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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528023">Toxic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal'>LizzyGal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Toxic [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angry Steve Rogers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Injury, Car Sex, Cockwarming, Come Marking, Comeplay, Dark, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, Dirty Talk, F/M, Filthy, Gags, Gratuitous Smut, HYDRA!reader, Hydra (Marvel), Idiots in Love, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, NSFW, Nipple Piercings, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Possessive Steve Rogers, Restraints, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Steve may be out of his mind at this point, Steve's Endgame Hair, Vaginal Fingering, Vigilantism, Violence, Violence against women, dark themes, hydra!bucky, hydra!steve, mild choking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:20:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>85,331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Project Insight succeeded, and Steve was captured by Hydra, his bitter, single-minded determination to Fuck Shit Up began.</p><p>Unfortunately, Hydra arranged a marriage for him. Foisting an outrageous, mouthy, sexy creature upon him. You.</p><p>Times had not always been good.</p><p>Steve found his infuriation and bewilderment growing. Then Peter Parker and Bucky Barnes moved into the Rogers Family Home. With a growing constellation of people around him that he's forced to care about and being made director of Hydra, it's screwing everything up. </p><p>And now, Steve must face being a Hydra Director, his growing feelings towards you and something fishy happening to the wives of high-ranking Hydra Officials.</p><p>:::Content Warnings will be listed at the start of any chapter where needed. This work does contain violence, talk about murders, dark themes, heavy sexual content with some of it being rough and or adventurous:::</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Toxic [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>295</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>:::Hello friendly readers!! Yes! I have posted another Hydra!Steve. Between you alls love for this little devil and the ideas bouncing around, I couldn't put it aside anymore. I'd meant to finish up one or two of my other stories. But, alas, I'm weak. I promised myself that I'd be good and no more new stories after this till others get completed. LOL.  XD  But! I wanted to thank all for the love and encouragement in the comments for my writing. This really is a special place on the internet. &lt;3 &lt;3 :::</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All  thing  considered,  Steve  might  as  well  have  shot  you  when  he  got  home.</p><p>You’d  been  busy  ruining  dinner.  Microwaving  a  steak,  since  you  couldn’t  find  any  lighter  fluid  to  start  the  grill.  Due  to  the  unfortunate  incident  with  the  gas  fireplace  and  the  aforementioned  lighter  fluid.  How  the  hell  were  you  supposed  to  know  it  was  gas?  You  didn’t  build  the  dang  house.</p><p>You  weren’t  Julia  Freaking  Childs  either.</p><p>You  weren’t  happily  married  and  your  life  wasn’t  a  bed  of  roses.  Ok  sure,  things  had  been  becoming  less  hostile  between  you  and  Steve  over  the  past  year.  But  after  going  to  your  friend’s  small  little  wedding  that  afternoon,  down  at  the  courthouse,  and  seeing  how  in  love  they  were.  It  had  put  you  in  something  of  a  mood.  </p><p>Cristal  got  to  pick  her  husband.  She  got  to  fall  in  love  and  plan  her  wedding  and  life.  Plus  the  adoring  way  she  looked  at  him.  As  if  she  didn’t  want  to  stab  him  in  the  thigh  with  the  knife  you  were  currently  poking  the  steak  that  you  were  microwaving…</p><p>And  it  wasn’t  that  you  were  unhappy. </p><p>You  hadn’t  been  in  love  with  someone  else  when  you’d  been  picked  for  the  Hydra  Marital  Arrangement.  Hell,  you  could  remember  when  you  first  married  Steve.  You’d  been  young.  So  very  young.  You’d  heard  plenty  about  him.  Sure.  Who  hadn’t?  But  being  married  to  a  former  Avenger,  former  Captain  America,  former  Captain  Hydra…it  sometimes  felt  like  a  field  of  landmines.  Only  recently,  only  after  you’d  been  married  for  years,  blown  up  and  then  after  he  had  been  made  Director  of  Hydra,  only  then  did  you  feel  almost…ok.</p><p>You  still  looked  at  him  sometimes  and  wondered  how?  </p><p>How  did  your  paths  cross  like  this?</p><p>Why?</p><p>Why  did  you  of  all  people  in  this  new  world  that  you  lived  in,  wind  up  with  him?</p><p>Most  importantly.</p><p>What?</p><p>What  in  the  hell  was  wrong  with  you?</p><p>What  had  you  been  thinking?</p><p>What  had  possessed  you  to  go  along  with  this  charade?  Other  than  you  didn’t  have  a  choice?  If  you  recalled  correctly,  he  didn’t  want  to  marry  you  anymore  than  you  wanted  to  marry  him.</p><p>As  if  your  mood  wasn’t  vile  enough,  sounds  of  the  front  door  getting  unlocked  alerted  you  to  Steve’s  arrival  home.  You  rolled  your  eyes  and  slammed  the  microwave  door  shut.  Nuking  the  steak  for  another  45  seconds,  before  padding  out  of  the  kitchen  to  see  how  the  hell  Director  Rogers’s  day  had  gone.</p><p>Plus,  you  needed  to  tell  him  you’d  accidentally  backed  into  the  garage  door,  again,  and  that’s  probably  why  it  hadn’t  opened  for  him.</p><p>Although  you  were  dressed  to  deliver  that  bad  news.  Still  in  your  little  floral  dress  with  puffy  skirt  and  elbow  length  sleeves.  It  was  something  you  saw  in  garden  party  posts  on  Pinterest.  You  were  perfectly  attired  to  drop  your  most  recent  oopsie.  </p><p>Not  that  Cristal  would  be  getting  <em>the  look</em>  from  her  new  husband.  </p><p>Not  anytime  soon  anyway.  If  ever.</p><p>They  were  probably  holding  hands  and  looking  longingly  into  each  other’s  eyes  and  loving  each  other.  It  was  sickening.</p><p>Cristal’s  husband  probably  loved  her  so  much  he  wouldn’t  even  give  her  the  eyebrows  of  disappointment.  Hell,  they  were  going  on  a  honeymoon  and  got  to  pick  out  their  own  future  home,  because  they  weren’t  pawns  of  Hydra.</p><p>Not  that  you  were  bitter  about  it  or  anything.</p><p>Upon  padding  out  into  the  neat,  clean,  tidy  living  room,  you  set  eyes  on  Steve  and  scowled.</p><p>His  broad-ass  back  was  to  you  as  he  put  his  briefcase  down  on  the  coffee  table.  Which  had  nothing  but  two  books,  a  set  of  four  coasters  stacked  neatly  up  and  three  candles  in  descending  order  that  you  were  not  allowed  to  light.</p><p>There,  in  his  black  and  grey  suit,  he  spoke  to  you  without  looking  probably  having  sensed  you  were  there.  What  with  that  serum  running  through  his  veins  and  all.  He  addressed  you  without  turning  around,  as  he  stretched  his  powerful  arms  out.  Popping  his  massive  shoulders  and  running  fingers  through  his  longer  hair.</p><p>“I  need  you  to  join  the  Hydra  Women’s  Guild…”</p><p>Steve  didn’t  even  need  to  finish.</p><p>As  you  leaned  in  the  entranceway  to  the  living  room,  a  safe  fifteen  feet  away  or  so,  you  were  treated  to  the  sight  of  your  husband  and  watched  him  shed  his  black  jacket  as  pieces  of  hair  slid  down  onto  his  forehead.  He’d  let  it  grow  on  the  top,  while  keeping  the  sides  and  back  short.  Giving  it  a  very  Old  Hollywood  appearance  that  you  were  really  digging.</p><p>Ok,  so  sure,  college  friend  Cristal’s  husband  didn’t  look  like  Steve.  Not  even  close.</p><p>“Yeah…I’m  not  doing  that,”  you  snorted.</p><p>Steve’s  gaze  sharply  looked  your  way.  Cerulean  orbs  glanced  over  you  for  a  second,  before  he  began  to  loosen  his  tie  and  then  unbutton  his  sleeve  cuffs.  He  didn’t  mean  to  sound  annoyed.  But  he  was.  He’d  had  a  <em>very</em>  long  day  and  was  just  not  in  the  mood.  Therefore,  his  motions  became  jerky,  rough.  “What  do  you  mean  you’re  not  doing  it?  You  have  nothing  else  going  on.  Just  the  other  day,  you  were  complaining  about  how  bored  you  were  being  stuck  at  home,  all  Stepford-like.”  Even  adding  on  finger  quotes  for  that  last  bit,  that  he  quoted  directly  from  you.</p><p>Your  scowl  became  a  real  one.  Obviously,  you’d  created  a  monster.</p><p>Your  own  finger  rose  in  irritation.  “Ok,  Steve,  first  of  all,”  you  began  and  were  greeted  with  a  sigh  from  him,  as  his  cuffs  opened  and  sleeves  were  pushed  down  muscular  wrists.  Further  building  on  your  ire.  “Yeah,  take  that  tone,  that’ll  just  make  everything  better.  And  since  this  is  the  future  and  I’m  the  Director’s  little  wife,  I  get  to  decide  how  I  want  to  waste  my  days.”</p><p>And  the  last  thing  you  wanted  to  waste  your  days  doing,  was  going  to  Women’s  Guild  Meetings  for  Hydra’s  Elite  Wives.  On  a  daily  basis,  no  less,  and  dealing  with  their  bullshit.</p><p>Then  however,  something  most  surprising  came  from  husband  dearests  mouth,  as  he  went  to  work  on  his  other  cuff.  “I  don’t  recall  phrasing  it  in  the  form  of  a  question.”</p><p>With  a  ding  from  the  microwave.  It  was  on.</p><p>You  could  feel  the  switch  in  you,  as  you  cocked  your  head  to  the  side  and  lifted  an  eyebrow.  “Who  do  you  think  you’re  talking  to?  You  got  a  mouse  in  your  pocket  or  something?”</p><p>With  a  jerk,  Steve  yanked  a  button  clear  off  his  sleeve  and  jerked  the  fabric  down  to  his  elbow.  </p><p>Finally.  </p><p>Finally,  he  was  feeling  like  he  could  breathe.  Finally,  he  was  home.  Finally,  he  was  back  and  now  he  was  going  to  have  to  fight  with  you  too.  After  his  day,  what  did  he  expect?</p><p>Perhaps  it  was  a  bit  too  much  to  ask  for?  A  night  with  his  wife  where  there  was  no  fighting  or  bickering.  A  quiet  night  at  home.  Peter  was  away  for  a  trip  with  the  Hydra  Security  School.  While  Bucky  was  off,  doing  god  only  knew  what.  Not  only  did  he  have  work  to  do  in  that  briefcase,  he  had  the  unfortunate  business  of  getting  you  back  on  track.  You’d  been  floundering,  he  noticed,  since  Pierce  died.  Not  surprisingly.  Both  of  your  worlds  had  been  upended  and  now  he  needed  you  to  do  something  for  him.  Something  very  unpleasant.  It  was  too  bad  he  couldn’t  get  drunk.  He  could  have  used  a  drink.</p><p>“Since  I  am  the  director…”  he  hissed,  finally  able  to  level  his  full  attention  on  you.  As  you  stood  across  the  living  room,  looking  so  well  put  together.  Steve  wanted  nothing  more  after  the  hell  that  was  his  day,  to  rip  you  apart,  until  you  were  a  screaming,  shrieking,  blubbering  mess  and  every  last  one  of  his  most  primal  needs  was  satisfied.  “…and  Hydra  is  currently  in  control  of  screwing  up  our  lives…I  think  I’m  talking  to  you.  You  can  decide  whether  you  want  to  take  it  as  your  director,  or  your  husband.  But  you’re  going  down  to  the  country  club  tomorrow  to  join.  And  that  is  it.  I  am  not  arguing  with  you  about  this  and  it  is  not  up  for  discussion.”</p><p>After  those  words  came  from  his  mouth,  in  terms  that  could  absolutely  not  be  argued  with,  Steve  knew  that  a  critical  mistake  had  been  made.  He  knew  this  for  an  absolute  fact,  when  your  head  tilted  to  the  side  and  your  eye  twitched.</p><p>You  looked  genuinely  surprised  by  what  he  told  you.</p><p>“Excuse  the  fuck  out  of  me?”</p><p>And  he  was  very  prepared,  to  be  perhaps,  a  bit  more  diplomatic.</p><p>You,  on  the  other  hand,  were  not.</p><p>On  you  went.  “You  need  to  get  the  hell  out  of  this  house  for  a  while  Director  Rogers!”</p><p>Hesitating…he  shook  his  head.  His  mouth  began  to  open.  This  was  going  to  devolve  very  quickly  and  he  knew  that  action  needed  to  be  taken,  you  had  that  look  in  your  eye.  So  he  said  words  he  thought  would  help,  words  he  thought  would  calm  you.</p><p>“I  am  not  going  anywhere.”</p><p>Steve  meant  to  follow  that  up  with  an  additional  statement.  </p><p>
  <em>We’re  going  to  sit  down  and  talk  about  this.</em>
</p><p>Instead,  you  were  quicker.  </p><p>He’d  walked  into  a  trap  of  some  kind.  Something  was  wrong.  You  were  upset  and  he  hadn’t  realized  that,  and  that  was  on  him.  He  accepted  that  he’d  made  a  grave  error  as  your  husband.  Which  was  what  he  was.  He  was  your  husband,  he  was  not  your  director.  It  was  like  a  loud  speaker  going  off  in  his  head,  as  he  watched  your  expression  change.</p><p>“You’re  right!”  You  proclaimed,  throwing  up  your  hands.  “This  is  your  house  Director  Rogers!  Hydra  sure  as  hell  didn’t  give  it  to  me!  I’ll  go!!”  And  then  you  spun  on  your  heel  and  stormed  back  the  way  you  came.</p><p>Hurrying  after  you,  because  he  did  not  want  you  going  anywhere,  Steve  called  your  name.</p><p>You  ignored  him.</p><p>Steve  put  some  pep  in  his  step  and  again,  called  out  your  name,  perhaps  a  bit  louder.</p><p>You  continued  to  ignore  him.</p><p>With  ease  he  caught  up  to  you  and  grabbed  your  elbow.  </p><p>You  attempted  to  yank  it  free.  His  grip  grew  tighter  and  he  brought  you  to  a  stop,  just  as  you  made  entry  into  the  kitchen.  Making  you  spin  around.</p><p>“Stop  calling  me  that!  And  that’s  not  true  and  you  know  it!  This  is  as  much  your  house  as  it  is  mine!”  He  hated  the  way  you  called  him  Director  Rogers  in  that  moment.  In  bed  was  one  thing  but  here  and  now,  when  you  were  like  this,  acting  like  this,  no.  Just  no.  Steve  didn’t  know  where  that  came  from.  He  didn’t  know  what  had  spurred  it.  But  it  was  not  going  to  progress.  He  was  going  to  put  a  stop  to  it  here  and  now.  </p><p>“Is  that  an  order?  Are  you  telling  me  what  to  do?  Director?”</p><p>“Stop  it!”  Steve  shouted  at  you.</p><p>“Stop  what!”  You  shouted  even  louder,  yanking  your  arm  to  no  avail.  “You  stop!  Don’t  pretend  like  we’re  in  this  together!  Don’t  act  like  I’m  anything  more  than  another  one  of  your  minions  you  bark  orders  at!  That  was  the  first  thing  you  said  to  me!  Do  this!  Do  that  because  I  said  so!  If  you  want  me  to  do  it,  fine!  I’ll  do  it!  At  least  now  I  know!”</p><p>You  yanked  your  arm  hard  enough  from  that  outburst,  you  managed  to get  free.  </p><p>Your  words  helped,  you  could  see  the  shock  in  his  eyes.  You  could  see  the  hurt.  It  was  very  likely  the  exact  same  hurt  you  felt  twisting  up  in  your  stomach,  making  you  feel  sick,  making  you  need  fresh  air,  making  you  feel  like  you  could  just  burst  into  tears  at  any  second.</p><p>Steve  leapt  in  front  of  you,  blocking  your  escape  to  the  back-kitchen  door.  Eyes  blazing  hot  enough  to  burn,  as  his  voice  became  dangerously  low.  A  snarl,  a  malicious  combination  of  his  rage  and  frustration.  “That  is  not  true!  Take  it  back!”</p><p>But  you  were  on  a  roll.  You  were  on  a  course  set  for  destruction.</p><p>“No!”  You  shouted  back,  grabbing  your  purse  from  a  corner  table  and  attempting  to  go  around  him.  “It  is  true!  God  Steve!  We’ve  been  married  for  how  long  and  have  never  said  we  love  each  other!  All  we  do  is  screw  each  other  and  argue!  You  can’t  stand  anything  that  I  like!  Everything  in  this  house  is  what  you  want!  Everything  I  wear  is  what  you  like!  We’re  not  husband  and  wife!  We  just…”</p><p>And  then  you  knew  you’d  poked  and  poked  and  poked  and  poked  at  him  one  too  many  times.</p><p>He  just  exploded  at  you.  Grabbing  your  purse  from  your  hand  and  throwing  it  hard  enough,  that  it  sailed  into  the  living  room,  hit  something  and  broke  that  something.  </p><p>“Jesus  Steve!”</p><p>Which  was  around  the  time,  you  noted,  that  your  husband  lost  his  ever-loving  shit.  </p><p>“Don’t  Jesus  Steve  me!  You’re  not  going  anywhere!  You  can’t  say  those  things  to  me  and  just  expect  to  walk  out  of  this  goddamn  house!”  </p><p>And  deep  down,  you  knew  you  needed  to  start  wheeling  this  thing  in,  before  one  of  you  said  something  else  you  couldn’t  take  back.  Deep  down,  you  knew  you’d  both  lobbed  enough  verbal  grenades  at  each  other  for  one  little  tiff.  There  was  no  need  to  escalate  the  situation.</p><p>One  of  you  needed  to  calm  things  down.</p><p>That  needed  to  be  you.</p><p>“What  do  you  want  then  Steven?  If  you  don’t  want  me  following  every  fucking  directive  out  of  your  mouth,  what  do  you  want?  You  want  a  good  little  Hydra  Spouse?  You  want  me  to  wait  at  the  door  for  you  every  day,  in  the  red  and  black,  with  two  fingers  of  scotch  and  ready  to  suck  your  dick?”</p><p>What  did  you  do?  You  poured  gasoline  on  the  fire.</p><p>His  eyes  widened.  His  jaw  clenched  and  he  just  loomed  over  you.  And  you  hoped  you  were  correct,  that  he  would  never  hit  you.  Steve  took  a  very  deep  breath  and  somehow  managed  to  get  out  through  clenched  teeth.  “I  refuse  to  speak  to  you  when  you’re  like  this…”</p><p>“Fine!”  You  snapped.  “I’ll  be  back!  I’m  going  for  a  walk!”</p><p>Which  was  apparently  not  going  to  happen  either.  No  sooner  had  you  moved  an  inch,  did  he  grab  your  upper  arm.  Not  only  did  Steve  grab  your  arm,  but  he  spun  you  around  and  shoved  you  into  the  kitchen  wall.  “You’re  not  going  anywhere.”  Both  of  your  arms  were  unceremoniously  yanked  behind  you,  as  he  moved  around  behind  you.  “You’re  staying  in  this  house  and  we’re  going  to  calm  down  and  then  we’re  going  to  have  a  discussion  like  adults.”  </p><p>And  then  you  realized,  he  was  tying  you  up.</p><p>“Are  you…JESUS  STEVE!”  You  shrieked,  struggled  and  then  were  shoved  most  roughly  into  the  wall,  the  silk  tie  that  had  been  going  around  your  wrists  pulled  away,  as  you  began  to  shout  louder.  Scream  actually.  And  then  you  found  that  tie  getting  wrapped  around  your  head,  gagging  you,  knot  going  right  in  your  mouth.  Not  tight  enough  to  hurt,  but  snug  enough  that  you  couldn’t  spit  it  out.</p><p>Leaving  you  to  swear  up  a  storm,  gagged,  and  swear  you  did.  Oh  how  you  swore  at  your  husband,  as  he  belted  your  wrists  behind  you.  </p><p>You  tried  to  put  up  a  fight.</p><p>You  struggled.</p><p>You  kicked  out  and  wound  up  getting  tossed  over  his  shoulder,  like  you  were  nothing,  which  just  infuriated  you  even  more.  From  behind  your  gag  you  shouted  and  shrieked  at  him.  You  jerked  against  his  belt,  that  was  wrapped  around  your  wrists  most  snugly.  Kicking  and  struggling  on  Steve’s  broad  shoulder.  Which  had  minimal  results  other  than  to  probably  bruise  your  arms  up  come  morning.</p><p>Intentionally,  Steve  avoided  the  bedroom.</p><p>Without  a  doubt,  he’d  be  drilling  some  sense  into  you.  He  needed  some  distance  though  and  the  bedroom  didn’t  have  any  place  to  sit,  other  than  the  bed.  And  that  wouldn’t  work  for  his  plans.</p><p>Not  with  you  this  worked  up.</p><p>A  couple  times  your  feet  nearly  connected  with  his  face.</p><p>That  would  have  been  incredibly  annoying.  Which  was  why  he  went  into  his  office  and  most  unceremoniously,  dropped  you  onto  the  black  leather  couch.  Which  led  to  more  screaming  from  you,  through  two  layers  of  silk.</p><p>You  bounced.  You  thrashed.  You  wiggled.</p><p>Until  you  wound  up  on  your  back,  colorful  skirt  a  few  inches  above  your  knees.</p><p>“Are  you  going  to  calm  down  so  we  can  talk,”  he  demanded  of  you,  going  over  to  his  desk  to  get  his  wheeled  chair,  so  he  could  sit.  So  he  could  put  a  little  bit  of  necessary  distance  between  the  two  of  you.  It  was  space  that  he  very  much  needed,  considering  how  unhealthy  his  always  hungry  lust  for  you  was.  It  was  unhealthy  and  he  should  have  been  ashamed  of  himself,  considering  how  he’d  been  raised.  But  Steve  didn’t  care.  It  was  probably  the  least  horrible  thing  he’d  do  that  day.</p><p>Through  that  gag  of  black  silk,  you  screeched  at  him.</p><p>
  <em>Suck  a  dick  Steve!</em>
</p><p>Unfortunately,  he’d  become  quite  skilled  at  deciphering  what  you  yelled  at  him  whilst  gagged.</p><p>With  a  resigned  sigh,  he  dropped  down  into  the  chair  which  groaned  under  his  weight.</p><p>For  a  second,  he  thought  about  getting  up  to  change.</p><p>But  he  really  didn’t  want  to  leave  you  alone,  even  bound  and  gagged.  You  had  an  innate  ability  to  find  trouble  unlike  anyone  else  he  knew.  Maybe  himself  before  the  serum?  He’d  have  to  ask  Bucky.</p><p>Almost  sullenly,  he  seethed  at  you,  meeting  your  enraged  glare  with  a  displeased  one  of  his  own.  He  was  hungry.  He  had  work  to  do.  He  needed  you  to  do  something  for  him  and  now,  now  he  had  to  deal  with  your  shit.  And  on  top  of  all  that,  he  was  getting  a  whiff  of  dinner  and  it  did  not  smell  particularly  appetizing.  Which  meant  another  night  of  takeout,  while  Bucky  was  probably  getting  fed  like  a  king  over  at  the  Widow  Rumlow’s  house.  “I  didn’t  think  it  needed  to  be  said.  But  apparently,  I  was  wrong.”</p><p>That  earned  him  an  additionally  hostile  look  from  you,  paired  with  another  thrashing  attempt  to  free  yourself.</p><p>“If  Hydra  fell  tomorrow  and  everything  went  back  to  the  way  it  was,  I  would  want  to  stay  married  to  you.”</p><p>Your  fidgeting  stopped.  However,  you  now  were  suspicious  as  well  as  infuriated.  Always  a  good  pairing  from  you.  Leading  Steve  to  find  himself  sliding  down  in  his  chair,  legs  opening,  face  scowling  unhappily,  as  he  voiced  things  that  you  really  should  have  known.</p><p>Somewhat  bitterly  he  sighed,  “Sometimes  I  forget  how  young  you  are  and  that  you  need  to  be  coddled,  told  certain  things.”</p><p>Naturally,  his  words  did  little  to  turn  the  tides  in  his  favor.</p><p>“Love  is  for  children.”  Steve  told  you  with  that  scathing  look  in  his  eyes.  “How  I  feel  about  you  isn’t  love.  People  love  their  dogs.  I  trust  you  implicitly.  You’re  what  I  think  about  when  I’m  not  with  you.  When  I’m  with  you,  it’s  never  enough.  You  could  never  talk  to  me  enough.  You  could  never  look  at  me  enough.  You  can’t  touch  me  enough.  I  would  die  for  you.”</p><p>Your  wiggling  stopped.  Your  gaze  darkened  but  not  in  anger  anymore,  or  even  suspicion.  It  had  become  pained  resignation.</p><p>“I  know,”  Steve  agreed,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  armrests  and  glaring  at  your  garters  that  had  become  exposed  from  the  skirt  of  your  dress  riding  up.  “It  is  incredibly  inconvenient.  You’ve  made  it  incredibly  difficult  for  me  get  anything  done.  You’ve  given  me  a  goddamn  reason  to  live  and  I  will  never  forgive  you  for  that.”</p><p>The  back  of  your  head  smacked  against  the  couch.  A  pained  noise  akin  to  something  a  wounded  animal  would  make  came  from  you.</p><p>“Don’t  waste  your  energy.  That  gags  not  coming  off.  I  don’t  need  to  hear  you  say  the  words  to  me.  Not  when  I  can  see  them  in  your  eyes,  every  time  you  look  at  me.”</p><p>You  didn’t  look  at  him.</p><p>You  were  still  a  little  stunned  that  he  would  actually  say  those  things.  Things  that  you  could  resonate  with  so  hard  it  hurt.</p><p>Like  he  just  popped  your  balloon.</p><p>You  hated  Hydra  so  so  much.  You  hated  Hydra  for  what  they  did  to  you,  your  brother,  your  lives  and  country  and  future  and  yet,  you  were  terrified  that  the  resistance  might  actually  succeed.  If  Hydra  was  toppled  somehow,  you  were  convinced  you’d  lose  Steve.  It  was  a  dark  thought  that  you  would  never  voice,  never  utter  out  loud.</p><p>You  didn’t  love  him  either.</p><p>Love  didn’t  seem  to  correctly  describe  how  you  felt  about  Steve.  Love  just  didn’t  do  it  justice.  Love  was  not  hungry  enough.  Love  wasn’t  desperate  enough.  Love  didn’t  make  you  want to  destroy  everything  in  the  house,  at  the  mere  thought  of  Hydra  failing  and  him  leaving  you.  Love  didn’t  make  you  want  to  scream  in  agony  for  hours  on  end,  at  the  thought  that  he  could  be  free  of  you.</p><p>Restless,  you  shifted  on  the  couch.  </p><p>Your  wrists  bound  up  snugly  behind  your  back.  Not  painfully.  No.  But  you  weren’t  going  anywhere.  The  tie  around  your  head  with  the  knot  between  your  mouth  wasn’t  going  anywhere  either.  It  was  safe  to  say,  he’d  become  something  of  an  expert  at  tying  you  up.</p><p>A  few  profanities  escaped  that  may  have  been  directed  at  him.</p><p>“I  know,”  was  his  bitter  response.</p><p>Followed  by  a  snappish,  “You  know  what  the  worse  goddamn  part  about  this  whole  fucking  situation  is?”</p><p>To  which  you  turned  your  head,  so  you  could  meet  his  gaze.  Figuring  that  whatever  was  about  to  come  from  his  mouth  was  going  to  hurt  more  than  a  physical  blow.  </p><p>“If  everything  we  do  fails  and  we’re  stuck  with  Hydra  for  the  rest  of  our  lives,  I’m  ok  with  it.  Because  I’ll  get  to  spend  it  with  you  and  that  doesn’t  bother  me.  It  should  bother  me.  It  should  infuriate  me.  It  should  not  at  all  be  acceptable  to  me.  But  I  would  eagerly  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  here  with  you.”</p><p>Did  it  hurt.  Did  it  ever.  Like  someone  had  plunged  a  kitchen  knife  into  your  ribs.</p><p>Watching  you  sag  into  his  office  couch,  hearing  the  dejected  noises  coming  from  behind  his  silk  tie  and  watching  your  fluffy  skirt  cloud  up  around  your  thighs,  where  he  could  just  see  your  garters.  It  made  his  heart  pound  harder.  It  made  his  ire  rise  more.  That  he  could  be  this  vulnerable  with  you.  That  he  could  allow  himself  these  weak  feelings,  when  he  should  have  been  focusing  on  his  mission.  He  could  have  been  out  causing  Hydra  all  kinds  of  problems.  What  was  he  doing?  He  was  wasting  time  here,  fucking  around  with  you  because  of  feelings.  He  had  so  much  he  could  have  been  doing  and  what  were  the  thoughts  going  through  his  head?</p><p>Steve  rose  with  those  thoughts  leering  at  him.</p><p>Trembling  with  anger  at  how  you  made  him  feel,  what  you  did  to  him  and  his  self-control,  his  ambitions  and  plans.  What  you  made  him  think  about  and  consider  now,  opposed  to  when  he’d  first  been  given  you  and  there  was  nothing,  just  darkness  and  hopelessness,  misery,  despair  and  failure.  And  what  made  it  all  even  worse.  You  weren’t  even  trying  to  make  him  fall  in  love  with  you.  You  weren’t  even  trying  to  pull  him  out  of  that  place.  It  was  just  what  you  did  to  him,  how  he  reacted  to  you,  it  was  just  you.</p><p>Your  eyes  followed  his  every  movement  as  he  ran  hands  through  longer  hair.  You  watched  him  lift  the  hem  of  your  skirt  and  all  the  layers  up,  till  he  saw  the  evidence  of  how  your  body  reacted  to  him.  </p><p>You  were  so  wet  it  was  humiliating.  You  were  ashamed.</p><p>And  it  wasn’t  only  because  you  were  fighting  and  so  turned  on.  A  lot  was  from  your  body  just  shattering,  breaking  down  at  his  admission,  at  your  own  desperate  need  for  him  him  him.  Your  body  wept  for  him.  Your  body  grew  wet  in  desperation  for  him,  for  that  union  you  two  shared,  that  physical  connection  that  would  make  everything  ok.</p><p>You  were  so  weak,  you  needed  him  to  tell  you  what  he  told  you.  You  were  so  weak,  you  needed  to  be  coddled  and  held.  You  were  so  weak  your  body  couldn’t  even  keep  it  together  around  him.</p><p>A  cry  came  from  behind  the  silk  knot  in  your  mouth  when  Steve  grabbed  your  arm  and  pulled  you  upright.  Chest  heaving  and  eyes  wide,  you  watched  him  drop  down  between  your  legs  onto  his  knees.  And  with  almost  clinical  movements,  he  pushed  up  your  skirts  to  observe  the  sight  of  your  panty-less  groin.</p><p>Layers  of  fluffy  underskirt  were  stuck  to  the  slippery  arousal  smeared  on  your  thighs,  copiously  drenching  you.  A  pitiful  whine  was  swallowed  by  you.  Leading  Steve  to  slip  two  fingers  into  your  sex,  pulling  out  an  incredibly  wet  sound.  </p><p>“Don’t  hide  from  me,”  he  told  you  sternly.  His  two  fingers  slipping  in  even  deeper  within  you.  “Your  body  knows  the  truth.”  Pools  of  blue  trapping  you  on  the  couch  more  than  his  fingers  ever  could.  Jaw  twitching  in  barely  contained  anger  at  you.  And  you  were  beginning  to  regret  every  word  you  yelled  at  him  in  frustration  and  anger  and  internal  hurt.  Especially  when  he  looked  at  you  like  that,  like  an  apex  predator  eyeing  his  prey.  You  knew  for  sure,  in  that  moment,  you  weren’t  with  Director  Steve  Rogers.  No.  You  were  with  Steve  Rogers,  the  super  soldier,  and  he  was  about  to  destroy  you.  He  was  about  to  do  something  to  you,  something  that  you  suspected  you’d  never  recover  from.  You’d  never  be  the  same  after  and  not  just  because  his  fingers  were  diving  ever  deeper  up  inside  you,  thumb  brushing  over  your  slimy  clit.  “Sometimes  I  wish  that  it  was  me  who  took  your  virginity.  Whoever  took  it,  did  not  do  a  good  job  of  making  you  a  woman…”</p><p>Already,  you  regretted  everything.</p><p>Leaning  forward,  wrists  coming  to  rest  on  your  garters  that  were  so  soft  against  your  thighs,  you  made  a  noise  of  concern  that  melted  into  surprised  arousal.  Right  then,  he  pushed  those  long  fingers  deeper.  </p><p>“…I’m  having  to  explain  things  out  to  you  in  excruciating  detail.  Things  that  you  should  know.”  And  when  his  tongue  ran  against  the  inside  of  his  cheek,  you  knew  just  how  far  you’d  pushed  him.  You  tried  to  explain.  You  tried  to  speak.  You  tried  to  at  least  attempt  to  fix  what  your  words  had  done.</p><p>Steve  would  have  none  of  it.  </p><p>Saying  your  name,  his  fingers  curled  deeply  within  you.  So  close  to  pushing  you  over.  “Don’t  worry  doll.  I’ll  make  you  a  woman  tonight.  By  the  time  I’m  done,  you’ll  never  think  another  one  of  those  ridiculous  things  again,  forget  insult  me  with  them.”</p><p>Not  that  you  were  in  any  position  to  split  hairs.</p><p>But.</p><p>You’d  been  a  woman  for  over  a  decade.  Ever  since  you’d  got  your  first  period  at  thirteen  and  grew  boobs.  However,  being  in  your  exact  specific  situation,  you  strongly  suspected  that  Steve  meant  something  else  entirely.  And  even  if  you  had  not  been  most  thoroughly  gagged,  you  probably  would  have  been  wise  to  just  keep  such  opinions  to  yourself.</p><p>Behind  your  back,  you  fisted  your  hands  as  he  began  to  scissor  you  with  a  physicality  that  you’d  never  felt.  You  realized  how  much  he  held  back,  as  you  found  yourself  getting  shoved  back  against  the  basic  office  couch.  A  startled  noise  came  from  you,  when  your  back  made  contact,  as  he  literally  speared  you  with  those  two  fingers,  spread  you  open,  toyed  mercilessly  with  your  clit  using  his  thumb.</p><p>“You  possess  the  ability  to  follow  instructions,”  he  remarked  to  you.  Which  happened  to  be  around  the  same  time  he  began  to  curl  you  up.  Push  you  closer  to  an  orgasm,  as  if  it  were  nothing,  as  if  he  knew  your  body  that  intimately well.  “See…you  don’t  have  underwear  on.  And  you  have  no  idea  how  much  that  pleases  me.  Having  access  to  what  is  mine,  when  I  want  it.  It’s  always  a  plus  in  your  favor.  Which  tells  me  you  have  the  ability  to  retain  instructions,  apply  them  to  your  daily  life  and  follow  through.  And  that  tells  me,  I’ll  need  to  be  more  vocal  with  you.”  And  he  sent  you  over  the  precipice  in  what  had  to  be  record  time.  Your  body  seized,  your  thighs  shook  as  your  eyes  rolled  into  your  head  and  shrilly,  you  cried  out,  with  silk  between  your  teeth,  as  your  climax  overtook  you.  Boy  did  that  ever  just  stroke  the  fire  of  his  ego.  Seeing  you  in  the  throes  of  ecstasy.</p><p>Without  hesitation,  he  stroked  your  clit  more,  stroked  your  clenching  walls  more,  pushed  his  fingers  in  more.  More.  More  and  more.  Prolonging  your  orgasm  as  long  as  he  could,  to  get  more  from  you.</p><p>For  a  second,  he  considering  just  ripping  that  dress  off  you.</p><p>On  the  other  hand,  he  actually  did  like  it  and  needed  to  practice  some  restraint.  More  restraint,  if  he  was  about  to  allow  himself  this  loss  of  control,  this  need  to  brand  you  outside  and  in.  If  he  was  going  to  allow  himself  this  level  of  emotion,  he  needed  to  be  governed  somehow.  He  didn’t  want  to  hurt  you.  He  didn’t  want  to  go  too  far.</p><p>Which  led  him  to  his  feet.</p><p>Steve  intended  to  leave  you  gagged.  He  loved  the  sounds  you  made  that  way.</p><p>Steve  planned  to  leave  your  hands  bound  behind  you.  It  made  you  wetter,  because  you  were  just  as  debauched  as  him.</p><p>His  hand,  slick  with  you,  wrapped  around  your  upper  arm  and  pulled  you  from  the  couch.  Legs  shaking  and  surprised,  you  let  out  a  noise  conveying  that  sentiment  as  he  drug  you  across  his  office,  to  the  door.  Which  he  shut  and  you  were  greeted  to  the  sight  of  both  your  reflections,  in  a  mirror  covering  the  back.  He  pushed  golden  pieces  of  hair  from  his  eyes,  as  you  uneasily  stared.</p><p>It  was  your  doing,  that  there  was  even  a  mirror  there  in  the  first  place.  You’d  insisted  that  he  put  it  there,  just  in  case  he  ever  had  a  sudden  Skype  call  or  something  and  needed  to  quick  check  his  tie,  or  hair.</p><p>Now  he  found  a  new  purpose  for  it.</p><p>His  hand  left  your  arm,  leaving  a  wet  spot  on  your  goose-bump  covered  flesh  as  you  looked  at  your  reflection.  As  you  watched  him  behind  you  gently  unbutton  the  top  of  the  back  of  your  dress.  Like  a  leaf  you  shook  as  you  heard  your  zipper.</p><p>You  were  terrified.</p><p>You  were  excited.  </p><p>Your  vaginal  walls  clenched  in  anticipation,  as  well  as  the  orgasm  he’d  just  given  you.  Your  chest  heaved  as  saliva  smeared  down  your  jaw  and  neck,  from  the  silk  gag.  You  watched  Steve  unzip  you  to  the  small  of  your  back,  with  the  utmost  care,  placing  soft  kisses  along  your  spine  that  made  you  flinch.</p><p>So  tenderly,  he  pushed  the  shoulders  and  sleeves  of  your  dress  down  your  arms,  to  your  elbows,  until  it  could  go  no  more  due  to  your  bindings.  Exposing  your  upper  torso  to  the  mirror.</p><p>Without  a  word,  he  pulled  on  the  adhesive  cups  you’d  worn  instead  of  a  bra.  Not  wanting  lines  from  the  lingerie  beneath  your  dress  that  day.  Hands  so  big,  so  capable  of  violence,  pulled  them  off  with  practiced  ease,  then  tossed  them  aside  and  you  were  greeted  to  the  sight  of  your  breasts  in  the  mirror.  It  made  your  core  twist.  When  Steve  rested  his  clean-shaven  chin  on  your  shoulder,  you  felt  yourself  tingle  and  new  wetness  seep  from  you.  Expectantly,  your  nipples  tightened,  hardened.</p><p>“See.  Your  body  knows  who  it  belongs  to.  Look  at  those  beautiful  breasts.”  His  gaze  in  the  mirror  held  yours.  His  hands  wandered  up  your  stomach  to  cup  you,  palm  you,  stroking  your  nipples  and  that  gold  bar  in  each  he  so  deeply  enjoyed.</p><p>In  your  back  you  could  feel  his  erection.  You  felt  it,  hard  as  steel  and  god  help  you,  you  felt  heat  spread  between  your  wet  thighs.  </p><p>“Doll,”  he  began,  thumbs  toying  with  both  piercing,  pulling  and  twirling  in  the  knowledge  that  it  was  as  good  for  you  as  him.  Not  that  he  could  even  begin  to  explain  it.  The  sight  of  them  always  made  his  balls  tighten.  “Get  on  your  knees.”</p><p>Your  gaze  grew  confused.</p><p>His  hands  roamed  up  to  your  shoulders,  which  he  then  pushed  down  on,  to  guide  you  down.  Down  to  the  floor,  on  your  knees,  facing  the  mirror.  Somewhat  bewildered  and  even  more  so  when  you  watched  him  unbutton  then  unzip  his  pants.  Withdrawing  his  incredibly  erect  cock,  when  you  were  still  bound  and  gagged.  Not  that  it  seemed  to  bother  him.  Nope.  He  seemed  intent.  He  seemed  motivated.  He  began  to  fist  his  leaking  member  almost  angrily.</p><p>Legs  stepping  out  to  center  himself,  you  watched  the  veins  on  his  thick  shaft  closely.  You  took  in  the  crown  smeared  with  pre-cum  and  his  heavy  swinging  sac.  You  swallowed  at  the  sight  of  thick  corded  wrists  pumping  quickly,  a  hand  whipping  up  and  down  the  length  of  him,  with  the  sole  intent  of  making  himself  climax.</p><p>“No  one  else  gets  this…only  you.”</p><p>Your  eyes  went  up  the  mirror  to  meet  his  heated  gaze,  his  fiery  eyes,  that  seemed  only  to  want  to  devour  you.  </p><p>“My  body  makes  this  just  for  you.  It’s  me.  It  is  the  very  essence  of  me.  Tonight,  I  am  going  to  cover  you  with  it.  I’m  going  to  smear  it  all  over  you.  This  is  my  body  marking  you  as  my  wife,  my  partner,  my  possession,  mine.  When  I  do  this  again,  after  tonight,  you  will  know  that  it  is  me  marking  you.  When  I  ejaculate  on  you,  it  is  me  telling  you,  that  you  fucking  belong  to  me.  No  one  else  gets  this.  There  is  no  one  else  on  earth  that  I  want  more  then  you.”</p><p>When  you  began  to  nod  your  head,  seeing  the  muscles  in  his  thighs  tighten,  you  knew  he  wouldn’t  last  too  long  either.</p><p>After  your  evening,  you  couldn’t  blame  him.</p><p>But  then,  then  he  ground  out  at  you.  “That  wasn’t  in  the  form  of  a  question  doll.”</p><p>Which  was  when  you  felt  your  mouth  get  salty  and  your  eyes  began  to  burn  wetly.</p><p>A  couple  tears  had  fallen  onto  your  cheeks  by  the  time  he  came.  Spilling  thick  cloudy  pearls  down  onto  your  chest,  your  cheeks,  your  chin  and  one  breast.  Falling  softly  onto  you  from  his  flushed  head  in  droplets.</p><p>Not  that  he  was  done.</p><p>No.</p><p>Twice  more  he  brought  himself  to  completion  on  you.  On  your  knees  in  front  of  the  mirror.  As  tears  dropped  and  streamed  down  your  face,  he  masturbated  himself  above  you.  He  told  you  that  you  would  always  be  his.  He  told  you  that  you  were  made  just  for  him,  that  you  were  meant  for  him.  He  jerked  himself  off  onto  your  exposed  back,  along  the  curve  of  your  neck  and  in  your  hair.  He  snarled  at  you  that  he  would  never  ever  let  you  go,  no  matter  what  happened,  or  how  things  turned  out.  He  told  you  that  he  knew  you  felt  the  same,  as  he  came  on  your  face  again,  as  he  fisted  himself  onto  your  throat  and  across  your  chest.  Covering  you  in  evidence  of  his  possession.</p><p>Sobs  wracked  your  body  by  the  time  Steve  pulled  you  up  to  your  feet.</p><p>Tears  of  relief.  Tears  of  joy.  Tears  of  so  much  stress  and  pain  and  suffering  and  worrying  and  fear  of  the  unrequited  came  from  you.  Tears  mixed  in  with  his  cum  on  your  cheeks  and  chin.  Those  tears  became  smeared  on  the  mirror,  when  he  grabbed  your  hips  and  pushed  into  you.  Taking  you  hard  and  fast,  shoved  up  against  the  door  that  both  of  you  made  shake  violently.  Making  you  scream  out  behind  the  gag  from  years  and  years  of  built  up  suppression.  </p><p>Office  door  rattling  as  Steve  swore  and  powered  into  you,  repeatedly,  balls  smacking  into  your  quivering  flesh.  As  you  came  beneath  him,  in  his  merciless  pursuit  to  make  you  only  his  woman  and  in  that  moment,  you  understood.</p><p>You  couldn’t  have  understood  any  other  way.  It  had  to  be  that  way,  it  had  to  be  that  exact  way.</p><p>Steve  grabbed  your  throat  tightly.  He  knew  it  was  tightly  and  he  didn’t  care.  He  wouldn’t  be  holding  you  for  long.  No,  not  long  enough  to  do  any  damage.  His  fingers  tightened  around  the  elegant  column  of  your  neck.  Reddened  skin  slippery  with  his  thick  semen,  your  precious  tears  and  sweat.  Your  eyes  were  watery  and  red  and  full  of  relief  and  deeply  needed  assurance.</p><p>“Look,”  he  barked  at  you,  pressing  his  mouth  against  the  top  of  your  head.  </p><p>And  you  looked.</p><p>Breathing  deeply  behind  your  gag,  you  looked.  You  took  in  the  sight  on  the  mirror  that  was  now  smudged  and  dirty  in  places.  Steve’s  erection  buried  far  up  in  you,  you  stood  on  your  tippy  toes.  Your  colorful  dress  bunched  up  around  your  waist.  Breasts  bare,  nipples  tight  and  you  were  covered  with  his  thick  cum.  A  depraved  exhausted  look  was  on  your  face.  Your  gag  was  saturated  from  drool  that  had  escaped.  You  were  filthy.  But  the  thing  that  you  noticed  most  of  all,  was  the  intense  expression  on  Steve’s  face.  How  hard  he  looked  at  you  in  the  mirror,  as  his  fingers  felt  your  pulse  beat  wildly.  His  grip  tightened,  held  you  close  to  him  against  what  was  probably  another  ruined  suit.</p><p>You  didn’t  look  like  yourself.</p><p>Your  body  was  melted  against  his,  slippery  with  him  and  spread  out  over  him  in  complete  numbing  ecstasy.  You’d  never  look  in  another  mirror  again  the  same.  You’d  never  suck  his  dick  again  without  thinking  about  this,  hell,  you’d  never  look  at  him  or  his  member  again  the  same  way.  He’d  possessed  you.  He  had  covered  you  with  his  very  seed  and  made  you  understand  that  you  were  his,  only  his,  only  ever  his  for  the  rest  of  your  life.</p><p>Steve’s  other  calloused  hand  smoothed  around  your  chest,  smeared  his  ejaculate  over  your  breasts,  rubbed  the  thick  pearly  discharge  onto  your  soft  tits.  “See  these?”  As  he  once  more  began  to  pound  into  you  wildly,  angrily,  heatedly.  As  if  outraged  that  he  had  to  say  this  and  it  wasn’t  evident  already.  He  rubbed  his  cum  into  your  nipple,  smearing  it  over  the  piercing  as  he  speared  his  cock  up  into  you.  Absolutely  overwhelming  you.  “These  belong  to  me.  They’re  mine  to  play  with.  They’re  mine  to  suck  and  bite  and  look  at  and  cover  with  my  cum.”</p><p>It  had  to  have  been  his  words.  Or  maybe  it  was  the  rough  way  he  was  toying  with  your  nipples.</p><p>Who  knew?</p><p>All  you  knew,  was  you  were  climaxing  again  on  his  cock  and  it  seemed  to  greatly  please  him.  He  thrust  himself  into  you  harder,  squeezed  your  nipple  harder,  made  you  shriek  louder  beneath  your  gag.  Hands  yanking  desperately  against  his  belt  to  get  free  as  you  fractured  over  his  thick  organ,  your  body  just  completely  coming  apart  in  his  arms.  Teeth  digging  into  the  gag  as  you  wept,  as  you  moaned,  as  you  screamed  and  begged  him.</p><p>And  god  were  you  so  perfect  as  you  came  again,  jerking  and  writhing  on  him.  Squeezing  his  shaft  deliciously,  nearly  making  him  come  again.  Which  wouldn’t  have  been  so  bad.  But  he  really  wanted  to  fuck  you  in  front  of  the  mirror  and  watch  your  tits  swing.  Watch  your  eyes  roll  up  into  your  head  and  the  whole  act  unfold  with  him  behind  you,  plowing  into  you,  showing  you  that  he  was  the  only  person  who  could  ever  make  you  feel  this  good.</p><p>Giving  your  neck  one  last  tight  squeeze,  he  made  you  focus  on  his  blue  eyes  once  more.  Once  more.  Once  more  and  then  he’d  untie  you.  One  more  time  and  he’d  take  out  your  gag,  take  you  to  bed  and  gently  make  love  to  you  until  you  dozed  off.</p><p>“We  love  each  other.  Don’t  you  ever  goddamn  question  it  again.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It  was  close  midnight  when  James  Buchanan  Barnes  came  home.</p><p>It  was  a  short  walk  across  the  street  and  while  he  would  have  much  rather  spent  the  night  at  the  Widow  Rumlow’s  house.  Unfortunately,  there  was  some  type  of  a  sleepover  going  on  at  his  sister’s  house  and  no  penises  were  allowed.</p><p>He  didn’t  particularly  understand  their  friendship.  But  he  wasn’t  bothered  by  it.  Having  his  sister  back  was  a  blessing  he  never  expected,  so  spending  the  night  with  her  and  the  widow,  eating  food  that  their  mother  cooked  and  sharing  shoptalk  about  who  they  next  wanted  to  assassinate  next  had  made  somewhat  of  a  perfect  night  in.</p><p>Even  if  he  didn’t  get  laid.</p><p>He’d  managed  to  steal  a  few  kisses.  He  got  felt  up  under  the  dining  room  table  and  in  the  kitchen.  Before  he  left,  he’d  promised  the  widow  a  good  time  that  next  night,  which  would  most  certainly  include  intercourse.  Tomorrow  night  was  bingo  night  for  his  sister  at  the  church  and  he  had  a  fun  date  night  planned,  that  included  blowing  up  a  few  strategic  sites  down  by  water.  His  girl  really  did  know  the  way  to  his  heart.</p><p>Not  that  Steve’s  girl  wasn’t  special  too.</p><p>The  sight  of  her  purse  lodged  in  the  TV  was  testament  to  that  upon  his  arrival  home.  He  spared  a  few  moments,  to  give  it  a  good  look,  after  locking  the  front  door  in  the  dark  living  room.  </p><p>James  didn’t  need  lights.  His  night  vision  adjusted  just  fine.  His  enhanced  hearing  didn’t  pick  up  sounds  of  Steve  digging  a  grave  in  the  backyard,  therefore,  he  assumed  the  two  of  you  must  have  settled  whatever  difference  you’d  had  earlier.  One  that  he’d  heard  over  at  the  Widow’s  house.</p><p>Still  though,  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  dark  house  effortlessly,  boots  heavy  on  the  floor,  smelling  something  unpleasant  in  the  kitchen  and  hearing  Steve  working  in  his  home  office.  James  peered  in  the  small  bedroom  Steve  shared  with  his  wife.  It  was  a  small  house  and  hadn’t  got  any  bigger  with  him  and  Peter  living  there  too.</p><p>His  metal  arm  shifted  around  when  he  placed  the  hand  against  the  doorframe.</p><p>Passed  out,  was  the  only  word  to  describe  the  young  wife  of  Director  Rogers.  </p><p>Splayed  out  on  her  front.  Arms  and  legs  askew.  Face  in  a  pillow.  Softly  snoring,  hair  spread  out  around  her  with  blankets  tugged  up  to  her  neck.  She  slept  like  the  dead.</p><p>Rolling  his  eyes,  he  then  continued  his  trek  down  the  dark  hallway.</p><p>James  did  not  bother  knocking.  Nor  did  he  pause  in  the  doorway.  Steve  would  have  heard  him  get  home,  just  as  he  heard  Steve  typing  on  his  computer  out  in  the  living  room.  The  darker  haired  super  soldier  sauntered  into  the  office,  long  legs  leading  him  over  to  a  chair  alongside  the  antique  desk.  Which  he  plopped  down  in  and  sank  deep  in,  making  himself  comfortable.  Metal  arm  adding  a  significant  amount  of  weight  to  the  furniture.  On  Steve  typed,  dressed  surprisingly  casual  in  just  a  pair  of  blue  sweatpants  and  a  loose  white  t-shirt.</p><p>A  comfortable  silence  fell  over  both  men  as  James  further  made  himself  comfortable.  He  laced  his  fingers  together  behind  his  head  and  rested  backwards,  glancing  up  at  the  ceiling  fan.  </p><p>It  was  James  who  spoke  first.</p><p>“You’re  gonna  have  to  be  careful  Steve.  You  might  end  up  breaking  her  leg  one  of  these  days.”</p><p>At  that  Steve  glanced  up  from  his  email.</p><p>Before  he  could  say  anything,  James  pressed  on.  “Did  she  agree  to  do  it  tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yeah.  She’ll  do  it.  And  I  am  plenty  careful  Buck.”</p><p>A  look  that  was  not  entirely  convinced  crossed  the  former  Winter  Soldiers  face.  Plates  in  his  arm  moved  softly,  adjusted,  repositioned  to  each  small  movement.  Each  movement  loud  in  Steve’s  ears,  reminding  him  of  everything  that  his  friend  had  endured.</p><p>“You  tell  her  about  the  missing  Hydra  Wives?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Both  men  knew  that  Steve  hadn’t  told  you  why  he  wanted  you  to  go  mingle  with  the  upper  echelon  Hydra  Wives.  Still,  Steve  quietly  countered  back.  “You  know  I  didn’t.  I  know  you  heard  us,  you  don’t  have  to  pretend.”</p><p>More  silence.</p><p>More  stretching  out,  watching  the  fan  curiously.  “I  wasn’t  pretending.  I  was  reminding  you.  When  you  wake  her  up,  you  need  to  tell  her  why  she’s  being  sent  to  the  well-dressed  wolves.  And  while  you’re  at  it.  I’d  give  her  two  Tylenol,  or  she’s  not  going  to  be  able  to  move.  And,  while  I’m  at  it,  half  the  neighborhood  heard  that  fight.”</p><p>Somewhat  annoyed,  Steve  chucked  his  pen  at  the  back  of  James’s  head.</p><p>Metal  fingers  grabbed  it  from  the  air.  Chuckling  followed,  “Punk.”</p><p>Smiling  softly,  Steve  shook  his  head,  “Jerk.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve  never  went  to  sleep  that  night.</p><p>Finding  himself  out  of  his  mind  with  frustration,  as  well  as  disgust,  at  his  utter  loss  of  control  with  you.  Bucky  was  right.  He  could  have  hurt  you.</p><p>You  did  something  to  him.  You  always  had.  </p><p>Sure,  you  looked  harmless  enough,  but  you  had  this  innate  ability  to  push  him  to  the  edge  of  all  reason  with  a  few  words,  a  look  even.  Deep  down,  he  knew  he’d  never  hurt  you.  He  wasn’t  his  father.  He  could  control  himself.  He  could  and  would  not  allow  himself  to  lose  control  like  he  had  with  you  again.</p><p>And  he  was  pretty  sure  he  made  his  point  too.</p><p>What  was  it  with  this  generation  needing  to  hear  everything?  Talk  about  every  damn  thing?  Did  actions  mean  nothing  anymore?  Looks  shared?  Time  spent  together?  For  god’s  sake,  of  course  he  loved  you.  Why  did  he  have  to  say  it?  He  didn’t  need  to  hear  it  from  you.  He  could  see  it  and  feel  it  and  that  was  more  than  plenty  for  him.  </p><p>On  top  of  that,  Steve  didn’t  have  time  to  coddle  you.  He  had  shit  to  do.  He  had  a  handful  of  people  to  discreetly  kill  around  the  new  office.  He  had  a  Hydra  Region  to  run,  while  surreptitiously  giving  out  information  to  Bucky  and  others,  in  an  attempt  to  cripple  the  beast.  The  point  had  come  where  he  needed  you.  He  needed  your  help  and  you  at  his  side.  He  didn’t  need  to  come  home  to  you  whining  about  your  feelings.</p><p>Steve  had  a  good  amount  of  time  to  think  that  night.  He  stayed  up  and  worked  in  his  office.  He  ran  a  few  dozen  miles.  He  ate  a  few  times.  He  did  some  cleaning  around  the  house  and  spent  a  good  bit  of  time  discussing  various  things  with  Bucky.</p><p>It  was  when  the  sun  began  to  just  peek  up  at  the  horizon  in  its  journey  across  the  sky  that  day,  when  he  decided  that  you  had  been  asleep  long  enough.</p><p>Knowing  that  if  he  didn’t  wake  you,  there  was  a  strong  chance  you’d  sleep  till  noon  with  nothing  on  your  calendar  for  that  day.</p><p>Knowing  that  if  he  didn’t  make  you  something,  you’d  probably  eat  a  Hot  Pocket  when  you  woke  up  and  then  watch  a  few  episodes  of  what  you  referred  to  as  ‘MurderPorn.’</p><p>Which  led  Steve  to  cutting  up  fruit,  putting  on  the  kettle  to  make  both  oatmeal  and  hot  tea.  Even  pouring  you  cranberry  juice.  No  one  else  in  the  house  could  stand  the  stuff,  which  convinced  him  was  the  only  reason  you’d  acquired  a  taste  for  it.  No  one  else  would  drink  it.  Granted,  Bucky  had  been  known  to  drink  from  the  jug  when  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  fridge.  </p><p>Because  he  was  not  a  philistine,  Steve  set  all  of  your  breakfast  items  on  a  lap  tray  and  made  his  way  through  the  empty  house.  Bucky  having  left  to  go  workout  before  making  his  rounds  for  breakfast  at  his  sister’s  house  and  then  back  home.  Throughout  the  night,  Bucky  had  snuck  around  the  neighborhood  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  sister’s  house.  Usually  Rumlow’s  Widow  too.  But  since  there  was  some  type  of  sleepover  at  his  sister’s  house  between  the  women,  Steve  figured  that  must  have  made  things  easier.  Safer  too  most  likely,  considering  the  amount  of  mixed  drinks  the  two  women  indulged  in  after  dinner  while  watching  gameshows  and  discussing  some  silver  fox  on  Dateline.  Which  Steve  decided  was  not  his  problem.  He  had  enough  problems  in  his  life  revolving  around  one  woman,  Bucky  was  more  than  free  to  deal  with  two.</p><p>His  little  hellion  was  sound  asleep  when  he  stepped  into  the  bedroom.</p><p>Splayed  out  over  the  blankets,  on  her  back,  an  arm  over  her  face  with  one  foot  poking  out  from  beneath  the  covers.  Blankets  having  had  ridden  down  nearly  to  the  wife’s  navel.</p><p>A  little  bit  of  flesh  never  having  been  an  issue  for  Steve  previously  and  it  wasn’t  then.  </p><p>He  was  more  than  capable  of  controlling  himself.</p><p>He  had  more  than  satisfied  himself  with  you  in  his  office.</p><p>He  could  control  his  impulses  and  had  things  of  importance  that  you  needed  to  be  awake  for.  </p><p>That  didn’t  mean  though  that  he  was  about  to  deny  himself.</p><p>Setting  down  the  tray  on  the  dresser,  Steve  padded  across  the  room,  his  dick  twitching  with  interest  in  his  blue  sweatpants  at  the  sight  of  your  youthful  flesh,  taut  plump  breasts  that  fit  so  perfectly  in  his  palm  of  his  hand.  Topped  with  those  piercings.  Perhaps  his  dick  twitched  with  more  than  interest?</p><p>In  your  sleep,  you’d  made  your  way  to  the  center  of  the  bed  and  had  laid  siege  to  it  all,  making  Steve  have  to  climb  up  and  crawl  towards  the  center.</p><p>He  would  wake  you  and  that  was  all,  was  what  he  told  himself.</p><p>But  then  he  scolded  himself.  He  was  your  husband  and  you  were  his  wife,  he  had  every  right  to  touch  you  and  hold  you.  You  were  his  as  much  as  he  was  yours  and  that  was  how  he  found  himself  pressing  his  lips  to  the  curve  of  your  neck.  Along  your  warm  soft  skin.</p><p>Surely,  he  deserved  this.  Surely,  after  all  he’d  suffered  through  and  endured,  he  had  earned  this  much.</p><p>A  noise  came  from  you.</p><p>Steve  drew  his  mouth  down  over  your  throat,  kissing  the  soft  beat  of  your  pulse.  Down  to  the  hollow  of  your  neck  and  chest,  leading  you  to  move  beneath  him,  stir  from  the  contact.</p><p>Then  there,  not  far  lie  the  golden  bars  that  taunted  him  so  wickedly.  Hard  and  warmed  from  your  body,  speared  through  your  soft  puffy  nipples.  Tempting  him  so  unkindly,  when  all  he  planned  was  to  wake  you  and  have  a  nice  responsible  talk.</p><p>Lowering  his  head,  he  touched  one  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  Pressed  against  the  delicate  flesh.  Feeling  the  bar  within.</p><p>A  few  strands  of  hair  fell  across  his  forehead  as  he  circled  your  silky  nipple,  painted  it  with  his  saliva  till  it  grew  taut,  formed  into  a  little  bud  beneath  him.  Wet.  Erect.  Making  you  stir  more  as  he  pressed  against  the  gold  piercing  with  his  tongue.</p><p>Sleepily,  your  voice  made  him  even  harder  as  one  of  your  hands  touched  him,  slid  into  his  hair.  “…teve…?”</p><p>“Yeah  doll?”</p><p>His  little  wife  was  coming  around,  waking  from  her  sleep.</p><p>A  wicked  thought  came  to  his  mind  and  as  your  fingers  softly  carded  through  his  longer  hair,  which  you  couldn’t  begin  to  hide  your  appreciation  since  he’d  grown  it  out.  Steve  tugged  at  the  blanket,  pulling  it  down  your  body  till  he  saw  what  he  sought.</p><p>Between  your  legs.  His  favorite  place  to  be  and  get  lost.</p><p>He  deserved  it.</p><p>He’d  earned  it.</p><p>He  had  every  right  to  take  it  and  he’d  make  it  so  good  for  you.</p><p>All  you  had  to  do  was  say  no.  </p><p>You  never  did  though,  you  always  seemed  to  be  up  for  some  lascivious  behavior.</p><p>Shifting  above  you,  moving,  Steve  made  himself  comfortable  and  slipped  long  fingers  between  your  velvety  lips.  Peeling  you  back  just  for  him.  Making  you  stir  more  and  then  wake  fully,  groan  at  the  feel  of  his  mouth  on  you.  His  tongue  sinking  deep  into  you,  in  the  singular  hunt  for  your  clit.</p><p>“…god  Steve…”</p><p>Your  fingers  tightened  in  his  hair.  Your  body  shifted,  moved,  thighs  parting  wider  to  allow  him  the  access  he  wanted,  encouraging  him.</p><p>“…that  mouth…”</p><p>If  that  wasn’t  a  surge  to  his  confidence.  Hearing  his  wife  moan  in  pleasure  and  knowing  that  no  one  else  had  ever  come  close  to  making  her  sing  like  him.  </p><p>Surging  his  tongue  down,  he  curled  it  back  up.  Tilted  his  head  and  began  to  suck  on  your  clit.  One  hand  roaming  up  to  cup  your  breast,  toy  with  your  nipple,  twist  the  piercing  in  that  way  he  knew  for  a  fact  would  make  you  wet.</p><p>When  you  began  to  twist,  to  kick  your  heel  into  the  bed,  he  smiled.  Steve  slowly  pushed  a  finger  up  inside  you  to  feel  and  as  he  suspected,  you  were  getting  aroused.  Not  a  shock.  He  knew  how  to  make  you  wet.  He  knew  how  to  make  you  moan.  He  knew  how  to  make  you  scream.</p><p>After  last  night,  he  knew  that  he  had  to  cum  on  you  again.</p><p>It  was  a  persistent  little  knocking  thought  that  nagged  away  at  him.  </p><p>How  good  it  had  felt.  How  right  it  had  felt.  Seeing  you  on  your  knees,  covered  with  his  ejaculate  with  wide,  wet,  emotional  eyes,  wanting  more,  wanting  that  connection,  desperate  for  that  attachment  to  be  fulfilled.  Yeah,  he’d  be  doing  that  a  lot.  Apparently  giving  you  his  name  had  not  been  enough.  Sharing  a  home  and  a  bed  with  you  had  not  been  enough.  Taking  your  body  again  and  again  and  again  was  not  enough.</p><p>His  wife  was  a  needy  greedy  thing.</p><p>And  that  was  ok.</p><p>In  the  hours  that  you  had  slept,  he’d  had  time  to  think  and  ponder,  even  talk  to  Buck.  And  Steve  had  to  admit.  It  felt  good  to  be  wanted.  Not  needed,  Hydra  needed  him,  being  needed  wasn’t  anything  special.  But  to  be  wanted  so  desperately  by  you  was  something  he  realized  that  he  relished.  To  want  him  as  desperately  as  he  wanted  you  was  a  gift.</p><p>A  second  finger  sank  into  you.  Your  back  arched  and  finally,  you  opened  your  eyes,  you  glanced  down  at  him  and  watched  him  roll  your  clit  around  with  his  tongue.  Steve  held  your  gaze  as  he  pushed  two  fingers  in  and  out  slowly.  Steve  refused  to  look  away  as  he  noisily  sucked  and  ate  away  at  you.  </p><p>What  a  way  to  wake  up.</p><p>What  a  Steve-way  to  wake  you  up.</p><p>He  knew  your  body  so  intimately,  you  were  tensing  up  and  coming  before  you  had  a  chance  to  gather  your  wits.  Your  body  giving  in  to  the  stimulation  and  natural  way  of  things,  clenching  tightly  around  nothing  in  your  early  morning,  teeth  clenching,  bright  stars  bursting,  orgasm.</p><p>The  ocean  roared  and  your  body  was  overwhelmed  in  a  wave  of  heat,  that  had  your  head  smacking  back  into  your  pillow  and  your  hips  jumping.</p><p>When  Steve  said  your  name,  you  had  to  swim  to  the  surface.  You  had  to  blink  and  look  down  at  him.</p><p>White  t-shirt  having  come  off  and  his  chest  drawing  a  moan  at  the  sight  of  all  that  muscle,  that  flat  washboard  stomach  with  a  dusting  of  dark  blonde  hair  leading  down  into  his  sweatpants.  Panting,  you  licked  your  lips.  Eyes  roaming  over  his  pink  nipples  and  that  dusting  of  hair  on  his  chest.</p><p>“Remember  what  we  talked  about  last  night?”</p><p>Swallowing,  you  nodded.</p><p>You  most  definitely  remembered  what  you’d  discussed  last  night.  As  if  at  the  mere  thought,  your  hand  went  up  to  touch  your  collarbone  where  some  of  his  cum  had  been  smeared.  Washed  away  from  the  shower.  But  you  swore  you  could  still  feel  it,  smell  it.  As  if  its  memory  was  tattooed  on  your  skin.</p><p>A  noise  came  from  you  when  he  pushed  the  waistband  of  his  sweats  down,  exposing  himself.</p><p>It  was  like  a  beast  had  come  to  life  between  his  legs.  So  thick  and  impossibly  long.  That  you  could  take  it  was  a  miracle.  Veins  protruded  on  the  sides,  his  bulbous  head  was  swollen  with  blood  and  covered  with  the  sticky  evidence  of  his  arousal.  His  balls  hung  heavily  between  his  legs  as  he  fisted  himself.</p><p>“There’s  some  on  the  tip  for  you.  Where  do  you  want  it?”</p><p>If  it  was  even  possible,  you  felt  yourself  get  wetter.</p><p>You  pointed  to  your  breast.</p><p>Eagerly  you  watched  as  he  walked  himself  up  your  side  of  the  bed  on  his  knees,  sac  swinging,  hand  fisting  that  monster  between  his  muscular  thighs.  So  eagerly  that  you  trembled,  you  arched  your  back  to  fully  expose  your  breasts.  Offering  them  up  to  him  to  do  as  he  wished.</p><p>His  blue  stare  bore  down  into  you.  “Don’t  shower.  I  want  this  to  stay  on  you  all  day.  I  want  you  to  see  me  on  you,  feel  it  between  your  skin  and  your  bra.  Remember  who  you  belong  to.  Remember  that  no  one  can  love  you  like  I  can,  or  as  much  as  I  can.”</p><p>Trembling,  you  nodded.</p><p>With  hungry  eyes,  you  watched  him  rub  his  gooey  head  on  your  breasts,  cleaning  himself.</p><p>Almost  sadly,  you  felt  your  wet  walls  clench  in  anticipation.  Your  words  came  out  in  a  whisper.  “Are  we  not  having  sex?”</p><p>Such  a  thought  was  laughable  to  him.</p><p>Wiping  himself  clean,  he  shook  his  head.  His  dick  pulsed  far  too  painfully  to  deny  himself  that,  “Get  on  your  hands  and  knees.”</p><p>And  then  you  hit  him  with,  “But…you  told  me  not  to  shower…”  as  you  moved  around,  positioned  yourself  how  he  had  asked.  Palms  down  on  the  mattress  as  well  as  your  knees,  spreading  them  far  enough  apart  to  give  him  enough  space.  Allowing  you  to  feel  air  on  your  exposed  wet  pussy,  how  desperate  it  was  to  be  filled  and  the  hot  pre-cum  that  was  now  on  your  breast  reminding  you  of  last  night.</p><p>“I’ll  clean  you  up  myself.”</p><p>His  words  never  had  a  chance  to  fully  register.</p><p>His  tip  pressed  against  your  tingling  slit  and  then  in,  breaching  you  slowly,  steadily,  pushing  in  and  spearing  you  open.  Not  in  one  fast  violent  push,  but  a  firm  and  leisurely  pace.  Allowing  you  to  fully  acclimate  to  his  size  at  such  a  deep  angle,  so  soon,  so  early  in  the  day.  A  long  low  groan  that  made  his  balls  tighten  came  from  you,  as  your  back  arched  and  your  cunt  swallowed  him  up.  </p><p>Steve  watched  his  cock  disappear  into  your  hungry  lips,  inch  by  breathtaking  inch,  spreading  for  him,  accepting  him,  welcoming  him  back  in.</p><p>On  the  warm  sheets,  your  body  nude  for  him,  he  pushed  himself  in  further  and  further,  pulling  even  more  noises  from  you.  You  were  so  tight.  Your  body  clenched  him  so  ravenously.</p><p>When  his  sac  finally  came  to  rest  between  the  both  of  you,  squished  one  could  say,  Steve  folded  himself  down  over  you.  One  hand  resting  above  yours  on  the  bed  while  the  other  hooked  around,  grabbing  one  of  your  swinging  tits.</p><p>For  a  moment,  he  paused,  allowing  you  a  second  to  get  used  to  all  of  him  so  deep,  filling  up  every  space  inside  of  you.  Once  you  were  good  to  go,  he  had  every  intention  of  plowing  into  you  and  fucking  like  were  animals.</p><p>“A lot  of  guys…”  you  breathed  out,  adjusting  your  hips  and  shifting  your  pelvis,  your  back,  to  take  him  comfortably.  “…don’t  do  that.”</p><p>A  soft  kiss  was  placed  on  the  shell  of  your  ear.  “Don’t  do  what?”</p><p>Voice  straining,  as  you  began  to  get  used  to  the  massive  intrusion  into  your  body.  It  shouldn’t  have,  but,  it  made  his  dick  twitch  deep  inside  of  you.  That  he  still  did  that  to  your  tight  little  body.  Fuck  it  killed  him.  “They  don’t  do  oral  after  sex.”</p><p>Thoughtfully,  Steve  massaged  the  plump  breast  in  his  hand,  toyed  with  that  gold  bar  through  the  nipple.  He  supposed,  upon  thinking  about  it,  that  it  was  not  the  most  delicious  thing  he’d  ever  put  in  his  mouth.  In  a  way  he  enjoyed  how  you  tasted,  but  his  own  release  was  <em>meh</em>  in  his  opinion.  But  he  was  not  doing  it  for  that  reason.  He  did  it  because  it  drove  you  crazy.  He  did  it  because  it  was  filthy  and  dirty  and  not  everyone  did  it  and  it  made  him  hard  just  thinking  about  it.  Just  like  anal.  He’d  never  thought  once  about  it  back  in  the  thirties,  or  before  Hydra  took  over.  It  was  taboo  and  filthy  and  one  look  at  your  ass  and  he  knew…he  had  to  fuck  it  too.  </p><p>You  just  did  that  to  him.</p><p>You  brought  out  these  debauched  and  depraved  urges  in  him.</p><p>It  was  those  goddamn  nipple  piercings.</p><p>“They  don’t  know  what  they’re  missing,”  he  whispered  in  your  ear,  half  tempted  to  take  your  ass  that  morning  but  no.  As  he  began  to  pump  in  and  out  of  you,  pulling  out  and  pushing  in,  pulling  out  and  pushing  in,  in  and  out,  in  and  out,  he  decided  he’d  do  you  there  later,  maybe  that  night.  He  wanted  to  focus  on  this  cunt.  Harder  and  harder,  smacking  harder  against  you.  </p><p>Smack.  Smack.  Smack.</p><p>Your  ass  hit  his  pelvis.  His  balls  slapped  you  each  time.</p><p>You  gripped  the  sheets,  you  spread  your  legs  as  wide  as  they  would  go  for  him.  His  hand  dug  into  your  one  breast  while  the  other  moved,  swung  with  every  thrust  he  slammed  into  you.  Making  little  grunts  escape  each  time  he  slammed  home.  Wet  gushing  noises  filled  the  bedroom.  Slippery  thick  liquid  ran  from  you,  down  your  thighs,  smearing  against  his  with  each  pump  into  you.</p><p>His  fingers  tightened  around  your  breast.  </p><p>“Before  you…”  you  whispered  jerkily,  “…no  one  ever  made  me  come.”</p><p>Steve  never  slowed.  He  licked  up  the  back  of  your  neck.  He  kissed  your  shoulder,  more  pleased  with  that  knowledge  than  he  should  have  honestly.  Leading  him  to  pull  you  up.  Resting  back  on  his  feet.  Pulling  you  upright  against  him,  powering  into  you  still,  hand  still  on  your  breast  while  his  other  snaked  down  between  your  legs.  Changing  the  angle.  Making  you  see  stars.  What  he  did  to  your  clit  only  pushed  you  further  along,  till  you  came  around  his  still  pistoning  cock.  Thick  with  veins,  covered  with  your  slippery  arousal  as  he  powered  in  and  out  of  your  tender  entrance.  Clenching  him,  pulling  him  in  more,  shrilling  as  he  twisted  your  nipple  and  played  with  your  slippery  clit.</p><p>“That’s  cause  your  mine.  Every  last  part  of  you  is  mine.  Just  like  every  last  part  of  me  is  yours.  Now  tell  me  kitten,  where  do  you  want  my  cum?  You’ve  been  a  good  girl  this  morning.  You’re  going  to  go  to  the  country  club  for  me.  You  deserve  a  reward.”</p><p>Steve  nearly  came  then  and  there  when  you  whispered,  “In  my  ass.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>You  were  really  beginning  to  regret  being  a  good  girl.</p><p>Being  a  good  girl  seemed  to  be  pretty  hit  or  miss.</p><p>Being  a  good  girl  had  gotten  you  breakfast  in  bed.  </p><p>Being  a  good  girl  had  gotten  you  woken  up  to  some  pretty  inspiring  oral  and  doggy,  of  which  you  were  a  huge  fan.  Plus,  you  got  some  of  that  naughty  back  door  action  that  always  set  your  heart  a  racing.</p><p>However,  being  a  good  girl  led  you  here,  to  the  country  club,  with  a  butt  plug  in  your  ass,  keeping  in  the  load  Steve  had  deposited  in  there  when  he  climaxed  his  ever-loving  brains  out.  </p><p>After  having  given  you  another  orgasm  that  could  have  registered  on  the  Richter  Scale,  he’d  done  this.  And  then…then  after  he  put  said  plug  in,  he’d  given  you  specific  instructions  to  come  to  his  office  after  the  morning  meeting  of  Hydra  Wives.  You’d  tell  him  what  you  learned  and  he’d  take  out  the  plug.</p><p>He’d  know  too  if  you  removed  it.  All  his  cum  would  drain  out.</p><p>You  were  married  to  the  most  unreasonable  man  in  the  world.  And  you  couldn’t  take  it  out.  No.  You  could  not  deal  with  his  disappointment.  Plus,  you  know,  it  was  kinda  kinky  and  you  were  kinda  into  it.  You  were  so  wet  you  had  to  dig  around  and  find  a  pair  of  underwear.</p><p>All  you  could  hope  for,  was  for  this  little  foray  with  the  Women’s  Guild  to  go  quick.</p><p>Walking  wasn’t  too  difficult.  You  could  walk  around  with  the  plug  almost  normally,  you  found.</p><p>It  was  sitting  that  was  the  issue.</p><p>And  as  you  walked  into  the  doors  of  the  country  club,  a  pretty  nice  one  too  if  you  had  to  say,  as  there  was  a  yacht  club  included  that  was  visible  from  the  parking  lot.  The  large  architectural  delight  was  on  the  water.  As  if  it  needed  another  way  to  scream  <em>money.</em></p><p>Your  Hydra  Driver  dropped  you  off  at  the  front  doors,  which  were  held  open  by  dudes  in  suits.</p><p>Signs  for  the  Women’s  Guild  pointed  the  way  once  you  made  entry  in  the  lobby.</p><p>On  top  of  the  shenanigans  with  the  butt  plug,  Steve  hadn’t  told  you  anything.  Nothing.  Nada.</p><p>All  he  told  you  was  he  wanted  you  to  go  to  the  meeting.  He  wanted  you  to  see  if  anything  seemed  unusual,  out  of  the  ordinary.  Your  reactions  were  priceless  and  he  wanted  them  to  be  real.  You  couldn’t  lie  to  save  your  life  and  even  you  knew  it.</p><p>Steve  told  you  it  might  have  been  nothing.</p><p>Steve  told  you  he  wasn’t  even  really  sure  if  anything  useful  would  come  up.</p><p><em>Just  go,  have  some  brunch,  mingle  and  keep  your  ears  open  for  me</em>,  was  what  he  told  you.  And  then,  fully  dressed  in  his  suit,  he  kissed  the  top  of  your  head  and  left  you  in  bed,  slouched  down  because  there  was  a  butt-plug  nestled  between  your  cheeks  and  you  were  left  to  eat  your  breakfast  and  ponder.  Had  things  turned  a  corner?  The  plug  in  your  ass  said  no.  On  the  other  hand,  Steve  was  trusting  you  to  do  this  for  him.  Maybe  he  couldn’t  attend  this  Hydra  Spouse  Club  or  whatever  the  hell  it  was,  but  he  also  wasn’t  enlisting  someone  else  to  do  it  for  him,  or  finding  another  way  to  get  the  information.  He  asked  you.  That  had  to  mean  something.</p><p>Such  thoughts  went  through  your  head  as  you  followed  the  signs,  meandering  through  the  halls  of  the  country  club  in  your  battle  clothes.  Wearing  a  midnight  blue  dress  that  was  both  understated  and  reeked  of  adulty  elegance.  Belted  in  the  middle  with  a  straight  skirt  that  went  beneath  your  knees,  long  sleeves  and  a  well-tailored  cut.  </p><p>It  made  you  feel  fierce  and  formidable.  </p><p>In  your  ears  were  diamond  studs  and  on  your  hand,  was  the  simple  gold  wedding  band  you  both  wore.  You’d  left  your  hair  down  and  as  familiar  faces  passed,  faces  that  lit  up  in  recognition  of  you,  Director  Roger’s  Wife,  you  could  feel  your  skin  harden.</p><p>You  felt  your  spine  grow  rigid.</p><p>You  felt  that  proverbial  armor  you’d  developed  during  your  reeducation  seep  back  to  the  surface.  </p><p>Cold.  It  made  you  feel  cold.</p><p>It  made  you  feel  detached.</p><p>It  made  you  feel  like  you  weren’t  a  human  anymore.</p><p>The  way  you  held  yourself  changed.  Even  the  way  you  walked  changed.  Soundly  your  heels  clicked  on  the  floor,  as  you  found  a  large  formal  dining  room  that  had  been  converted  for  the  event.  It  was  lovely  with  a  beautiful  view  of  the  Bay,  food  smelled  amazing  from  over  on  tables,  women  wore  their  finest  and  tables  were  set  up  with  full  place  settings.  It  really  gave  you  a  classy  French  brothel  sort  of  feel.</p><p>A  chandelier  that  threw  bright  light  caught  your  attention  as  you  walked  in.</p><p>“Excuse  me?  Ma’am?”</p><p>Ma’am?</p><p>Was  someone  talking  to  you?</p><p>They’d  better  be  talking  to  you.  You  damn  well  better  have  been  ma’am.  Ma’am,  or  Mrs.  Rogers.</p><p>You  paused,  turned,  and  looked  at  a  table  holding  a  perky  little  thing  with  pearls  on,  who  gaped  at  the  sight  of  you.  On  the  small  table  before  her  were  nametags  and  markers.  Plus,  what  appeared  to  be  a  small  little  pamphlet,  an  itinerary  for  the  morning.</p><p>You  reached  out  to  take  that.</p><p>“Oh  my  gosh!  Mrs. Rogers!  You  came!  Delores  will  be  so  thrilled  you  decided  to  accept  our  invitation.  Would  you  like  to  make  out  a  nametag?  We’ll  be  starting  soon!”  She  beamed,  smiling  so  broadly  you  probably  could  have  seen  her  wisdom  teeth  had  you  leaned  down.</p><p>Knowing  that  you  were  drawing  glances  and  whispers  from  the  women  around,  you  felt  the  need  to  press  on  into  the  room  further.</p><p>So  you  lifted  the  corner  of  your  mouth,  in  a  manner  that  reminded  you  of  a  large  predatory  cat.  “Darling.  Everyone  knows  who  I  am.”</p><p>Then  off  you  set.</p><p>Heels  loud  on  the  polished  marble  floor,  you  surveyed  the  sights.  Women  mingled  and  gathered,  seated  and  standing.  Nothing  particularly  stood  out.  Nothing  screamed  at  you  as  something  that  Steve  should  immediately  be  informed  of.</p><p>On  you  aimlessly  wandered.</p><p>You  grabbed  a  crystal  flute  from  a  white  table  clothed  surface  holding  Mimosas  and  surveyed  the  brunch  spread,  that  was  being  picked  at  like  a  pride  of  lions  would  pick  apart  a  water  buffalo.  Making  you  particularly  glad  you’d  eaten.  It  allowed  you  to  focus.</p><p>Upon  lifting  the  flute  to  your  lips,  you  spotted  Lynette  approaching  your  way.</p><p>Tangy  orange  juice  and  something  bubbly  that  was  most  definitely  not  Prosecco  slid  past  your  lips.  It  made  you  frown  and  survey  the  beverage  closely.</p><p>“I  know.  It’s  a  FauxMosa.”  Lynetta  greeted  you.  “It’s  got  ginger  ale  instead.”</p><p>Ginger  ale?</p><p>Well  that  was  one  way  to  ruin  a  perfectly  good  Mimosa.</p><p>“I’m  so  happy  to  see  you  here  finally!”</p><p>You  made  a  responding  noise  that  could  have  meant  anything.</p><p>A  perfectly  manicured  hand  with  a  ring  possessing  a  stone  visible  from  space  rested  supportively  on  your  arm,  “I  mean,  I  know  that  former  Director  Pierce  and  you  were  very  close.  You  and  Director  Roger’s  must  have  been  so  stunned  when  he  passed.”</p><p>Another  noise  came  from  you.  Although  that  time,  you  pointedly  looked  down  at  the  perfectly  manicured  hand  on  your  arm.</p><p>Lynette  withdrew  her  hand  as  Delores’s  voice  boomed  over  the  sound  system  in  the  room,  everyone,  yourself  included,  turning  to  see  her  up  on  the  raised  podium  over  by  the  buffet.  </p><p>You  only  looked  for  a  second,  as  she  began  to  greet  the  room.  </p><p>You  looked  back  to  your  FauxMosa  and  debated  on  whether  you  could  stomach  any  more  of  it.</p><p>“I’m  just  so  glad  to  see  you  here  and  getting  involved  in  Hydra.  We  could  really  use  fresh  young  faces  here…”</p><p>“I  would  like  to  have  everyone’s  attention  before  we  start…”  boomed  throughout  the  room,  silencing  Lynette,  thank  heavens.  You  were  going  to  need  something  stronger  than  ginger  ale  to  listen  to  Lynette’s  propaganda  speech  one  more  time.  Plus,  Delores  was  pretty  spunky,  you  deal  could  deal  with  Delores  for  a  while.</p><p>“Now…before  we  start  our  meeting,  I  would  like  to  let  everyone  here  know…I  put  cameras  up  around  my  entire  house  last  month.  So,  I  will  find  out  who’s  been  shitting  on  my  lawn!  This  isn’t  funny!”</p><p>Both  of  your  eyebrows  went  up.</p><p>“Fucking  Delores,”  Lynette  hissed,  then  began  to  gesture  wildly  with  both  arms,  as  you  absentmindedly  took  a  sip  of  your  Mimosa.  Only  to  be  reminded  that  it  was  a  fake.  Making  you  again  frown.  Finally,  just  setting  the  damn  thing  down  on  the  nearest  flat  surface.</p><p>You  had  to  get  away  from  Lynette  now  that  she  was  distracted  by  Delores  and  Delores  announcing  her  problems  to  the  room.</p><p>A  scan  around  made  your  chest  tighten.</p><p>The  doors  that  led  into  the  room  were  being  shut  and  locked.  </p><p>In  fact,  upon  closer  inspection,  all  the  doors  were  shut  tight.</p><p>That  couldn’t  be  good.</p><p>“Ok!  Ok!  Ok!  I  got  it  Lynette!  Ok!  Moving  on!  Moving  on!”  Delores  ranted  from  up  behind  her  podium,  as  you  shifted  from  one  pump  to  the  other,  wondering  what  on  earth  was  going  to  happen  next.</p><p>Every  single  woman  in  the  room,  seated  or  standing,  reached  for  and  opened  the  pamphlet  from  the  front  table,  as  if  in  eerie  unison.</p><p>A  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  your  back.</p><p>The  lights  were  dimmed  and  up  on  the  wall  by  Delores,  a  familiar  square  of  light  illuminated  that  you  just  knew  would  be  a  PowerPoint  Presentation.</p><p>Just  like  from  your  reeducation  classes.</p><p>You  began  to  tremble.</p><p>You  were  absolutely  terrified.</p><p>Up  on  the  wall,  flashed  the  picture  of  a  smiling  woman’s  face.  </p><p>She  looked  vaguely  familiar.</p><p>“Ok  ladies…and  Rodney,  we  had  another  one  of  us  taken  last  night.  We  all  know  what  this  means  and  as  per  usual,  her  husband  hasn’t  even  declared  her  a  missing  person.  Which  is  just  soooo  typical!  But,  whatever.  I  don’t  know  what  Hydra  Officers  have  against  Missing  Persons  Reports…but  that’s  just  me…”  Delores  went  on  rather  pointedly,  smacking  her  hands  on  that  podium  and  making  what  some  would  determine  as  dramatic  facial  expressions.</p><p>And…your  terror  began  to  turn  into  something  else.</p><p>This  was  not  what  you  had  anticipated.</p><p>Your  gaze  went  back  to  the  picture  and  then,  feeling  the  thick  paper  in  your  hand,  you  glanced  at  what  you  initially  thought  was  the  itinerary  for  the  Hydra  Women’s  Guild,  Club,  or  whatever,  meeting.  Flipping  it  open  in  the  dim  light  from  all  those  windows,  you  were  greeted  to  the  sight  of  eight  pictures.  One  of  those  pictures  was  the  woman  up  on  the  wall.  </p><p>All  eight  women  were  of  different  ages  and  ethnicities.  </p><p>Flipping  through  the  pages  of  what  turned  out  to  not  be  thick  paper,  but  several  pieces  of  paper  stapled  together,  making  it  thick,  you  were  surprised.</p><p>There  was  a  timeline.  </p><p>There  were  maps  with  dots  assigned  to  each  woman’s  names.</p><p>Information  about  where  each  woman  was  last  seen  and  what  they  were  wearing.</p><p>“And  thankfully…”  Delores  went  on  as  you  thumbed  through  the  pages.  “…some  of  us  were  SHIELD  Agents  in  our  past  lives,  and  were  able  to  compile  all  this  information  that  we’ve  been  gathering  about  our  sisters.  Our  former  research  analyst  Darcy,  put  all  of  this  together  for  us.  And  now,  I’m  going  to  hand  the  floor  over  to  Melinda,  who  has  gone  over  everything  and  put  a  lot  of  these  pieces  together.  It’s  a  serial  killer,  ladies…and  Rodney.  We’re  going  to  be  busy  till  we  catch  him.”  </p><p>In  that  very  exact  moment,  you  were  practically  positive  you’d  figured  out  why  Steve  had  sent  you  to  chill  with  the  Hydra  Wives  that  morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:::Hello friendly readers!! This chapter has a Content Warning! A big one!! Fair warning and all, Toxic is where I am putting everything, to include the kitchen sink as we say here, so we're going all the way there. This won't be a 'Dead bird do not eat' but there are dark themes and I'll add appropriate tags next and add a content warning on the 'Work Summary'. Content Warnings will be at the start of any chapter that they're in for the future. Thank you as always for reading!! Your comments give me life and I'm so happy you like this thus far!!:::</p><p>Content Warning for violence - a violent fight is in the chapter. And there is also role-playing/dirty talk referencing cheating but there is no cheating, only heated talk about it during a sex act. Also, there is talk about murder victims. And a brief mention to euthanasia. And a mention of domestic violence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve  was  giving  you  <em>that  look</em>.</p><p>It  was  a  very  familiar  look  to  you.</p><p>Eyebrow  up.  Eyes  narrowed.  Frowning.  Nose  scrunched  just  ever  so  slightly.  Slouched  back  in  a  chair/seat  or  couch.  Sometimes  resting  his  jaw  in  his  hand,  although  that  afternoon,  in  his  temporary  office  while  the  Triskelion  was  being  rebuilt  and  renovated,  his  hands  were  busy  holding  the  program.  The  one  you’d  brought  from  the  Hydra  Wives  Guild  Brunch.  The  brunch  that  you  still  could  not  fucking  even  with.  Not  even  a  little.</p><p>“…and  then,  I  came  here.”  Was  how  you  summed  up  your  morning  with  a  shrug.  A  pivot  on  your  heel  followed  in  your  wandering  around  his  new  makeshift  office,  in  the  convention  center  that  Hydra  had  momentarily  taken  residence.</p><p>Steve’s  new  temporary  digs  were  in  what  looked  like  a  storage  room.</p><p>Posters  were  up  on  the  walls.  Everything  from  previous  events,  posters  of  sketchy  looking  snack-stand  foods,  motivational  sayings  and  maps  of  the  area.  Floor  to  ceiling  shelving  units  covered  three  walls  with  every  possible  thing  on  said  shelves.  The  floor  was  concrete.  The  walls  were  painted  concrete  blocks.  There  were  no  vents  or  windows  and  only  one  door.</p><p>Spartan  did  not  even  begin  to  describe  it.</p><p>His  desk,  well,  that  looked  like  it’d  fall  apart  with  one  good  kick  from  Bucky’s  elderly  sister  Rebecca.  A  relic  from  the  seventies,  pea  green  with  wood  particle  board  paneling  that  had  little  bits  of  particles  steadily  floating  to  the  floor.</p><p>It  was,  quite  possible,  one  of  the  ugliest  fucking  things  you’d  ever  seen  in  your  life.</p><p>His  chair,  one  of  those  blue  plastic  mass  produced  waxy  numbers  with  the  metal  legs  that  you  remembered  sitting  on  in  school.</p><p>Still,  you  could  understand  why  he  picked  it.</p><p>Not  only  was  there  no  phone  line,  but,  there  was  no  form  of  outlet  at  all.</p><p>So  he  couldn’t  easily  be  bugged  or  snuck  up  on.  No  one  could  spy  on  him  in  his  little  office.  Everything  he  needed  he  had  to  bring  in  with  him.  </p><p>A  laptop  sat  up  on  that  desk.  One  that  had  long  since  fallen  asleep.</p><p>Softly,  your  heels  clicked  on  the  cold  hard  floor.  </p><p>You  turned,  hands  clasped  behind  your  back,  and  looked  at  a  poster  of  a  hotdog  beside  nachos  and  a  coke.</p><p>“And  these  women?  The  Hydra  Women’s  Guild?  They’re  out  actively  looking  for  these  missing  women?”</p><p>In  response  to  his  question,  you  nodded,  transfixed  by  some  names  scratched  into  the  dingy  white  painted  concrete  blocks  that  made  the  aforementioned  wall.  “Oh  yeah.  They’re  like,  totally  into  it.  They  have  groups  with  tasks  and  code  words.  I  was  appointed  to  Team  Horatio  Caine  and  have  been  tasked  with  logging  onto  your  work  computer  at  home,  to  research  their  suspects.  So  I  need  your  password.”</p><p>Leaning  closer  to  get  a  better  look  at  a  crude  sketch  of  a  penis,  you  could  hear  Steve  make  noises  of  disbelief.</p><p>Which  you  totally  agreed  with.</p><p>You  heard  him  toss  the  pamphlet  on  his  pre-used  desk.  </p><p>Unable  to  think  of  a  place  to  start,  Steve  just  sighed  and  stared  at  your  shape  in  that  midnight  blue  dress,  the  one  that  was  the  very  definition  of  distracting.  It  wasn’t  fair  that  you  could  look  so  effortlessly  stunning,  while  being  so  apparently  nonplussed.  Just  wandering  around  his  small  space  like  it  was  nothing.  As  if  his  very  presence  didn’t  make  you  want  to  drop  to  your  knees  and  beg  for  mercy.  </p><p>And  now  this.  This  news  that  was  worse  than  anything  he  could  have  even  dreamed  up.</p><p>There  weren’t  serial  killers  when  Steve  grew  up.  </p><p>Or  if  there  were,  he  never  heard  about  it.  Women  weren’t  obsessed  with  crime  and  murder  like  now.  And  women  in  his  day,  sure  as  hell  didn’t  go  around  trying  to  find  them,  if  there  were  indeed  any  around.</p><p>Finally,  he  looked  back  down  at  the  pamphlet  again,  so  he’d  stop  looking  at  you.  “You  know  my  password.  It’s  your  lipstick  color.  One  word.”</p><p>Ruby  Woo.</p><p>Because  he  was  also  obsessed  with  the  color  of  your  lips.  God  help  him.</p><p>And  unfortunately,  he  now  owed  Bucky  forty  bucks.</p><p>“Did  you  know  there  was  a  serial  killer?”</p><p>And  he  was  annoyed  again.</p><p>Glaring  at  the  folded  papers  stapled  together  down  on  his  desk,  Steve  sat  back  in  the  wildly  uncomfortable  chair  and  scowled.  Scowled  at  you.  Scowled  at  the  situation.  Scowled  at  Bucky.  Scowled  in  general.</p><p>How  you  could  be  so  calm,  so  casual,  when  mentioning  a  psychopath  abducting  the  wives  of  high-ranking  Hydra  members  and  killing  them  horrifically.  </p><p>He’d  heard  whispers,  gossip.</p><p>Bucky  too.</p><p>The  two  had  talked  about  it  when  they  were  up  at  night.   </p><p>However,  no  one  would  open  up.  Not  even  the  husbands.  Parts  of  two  of  the  women  in  your  bunch  pamphlet  had  been  found,  some  in  Delaware  and  some  in  Virginia.  One  woman  was  buried  before  Steve  could  even  ask  a  few  questions.  Although  she  seemed  to  have  been  missed  by  the  Hydra  Wives  efforts.</p><p>“No.  I  didn’t  know  what  to  think.  No  one’s  talking  about  it.  It’s  not  on  the  news.  The  cops  don’t  even  know  about  these  missing  women.”  Pointing  at  the  stapled  papers,  he  added,  “Parts  of  Mariella  and  Shin  have  been  found.  Danielle  was  buried  before  anyone  had  the  chance  to  gossip  about  her…”</p><p>A  noise  from  you  made  him  look  your  way.</p><p>You  were  moving  again.</p><p>Hands  clasped  behind  your  back.  Swinging  your  legs,  outrageous  heels  clicking  on  the  floor  as  you  wandered  over  to  one  of  the  shelving  units.</p><p>“What’s  that  noise  for?”</p><p>Shrugging,  you  leaned  down  to  get  a  good  look  at  an  old  weathered  tool  box.  “Danielle  didn’t  get  killed  by  whoever  took  those  Hydra  Wives.”</p><p>Steve’s  former  Captain  America  began  to  shine  through,  “Oh?”</p><p>Snapping  your  fingers  behind  your  back,  your  head  tilted  to  get  a  better  look  at  those  old  tools.  Wooden  handled  without  any  plastic  in  sight.  “Nuhhuh.  Her  husband  did  it.”</p><p>“Oh?  And  how  do  we  know  this?  Did  your  group  tell  you?”</p><p>Turning,  you  clicked  your  tongue  in  your  mouth,  swayed  your  hips  and  generally  could  not  seem  to  stay  still.  “Everyone  knows.  Her  Hydra  appointed  husband  has  been  beating  the  crap  out  of  her  since  they  got  hitched.  It  was  just  a  matter  of  time.  Ask  their  neighbors.  Check  with  all  the  local  emergency  rooms,  especially  the  ones  with  loyal  Hydra  doctors.  Everyone  knew  he’d  kill  her  eventually…oh  don’t  look  so  surprised  Steve.  You  used  to  work  in  an  office  full  of  women  back  in  the  day.  You  know  how  we  talk.” </p><p>All  of  which  was  true.</p><p>Even  though  it  was  something  of  a  surprise,  still,  that  so  much  of  his  life  was  known,  that  he  was  studied  like  a  test  subject  in  schools.  It  was  weird.</p><p>Shifting  uncomfortably  from  all  of  that,  he  made  a  mental  note  to  look  into  Danielle’s  husband.  </p><p>“What  else  is  your  group  doing?  When  do  they  meet  next?”</p><p>Steve  knew  that  he  shouldn’t  have  been  surprised  by  your  look  of  total  amusement,  all  things  considered.  It  wasn’t  like  he  had  a  choice,  in  relying  on  you,  in  this.  Absolutely  none  of  the  husbands  would  even  admit  their  wives  were  missing,  or  that  anything  was  wrong.  Bucky  suspected  that  they  were  being  extorted,  or  some  type  of  pressure  was  being  put  on  them.</p><p>No  one  knew  anything.</p><p>It  was  really  beginning  to  irritate  him.</p><p>Unclasping  your  hands,  you  placed  them  delicately  at  your  chest.  “Me?  You’re  asking  me?  The  great  and  almighty  Steve  Rogers  asking  little  ole  me?”</p><p>“Don’t  be  a  brat.”</p><p>It  just  popped  out.  He  couldn’t  help  it.</p><p>And  then  you  skipped,  actually  skipped  in  amusement,  a  few  feet  closer  to  him  but  well  out  of  his  immediate  reach.  Looking  so  much  like  a  woman  he  would  have  seen  when  he  was  your  age.  Weak.  Sick.  Young,  small  and  back  before.  Yet  there  was  nothing  old  fashioned  about  you.  </p><p>“Everyone  has  a  little  task  and  tomorrow,  Delores…you  remember  Delores…”</p><p>Yes,  he  remembered  Delores  and  rolled  his  eyes,  motioning  for  you  to  go  on.</p><p>“Well  Delores  is  having  afternoon  tea  at  her  place.  So  we’ll  go  over  and  give  her  our  reports.  Then  she’ll  go  and  speak  with  the  higher  ups  to  pow-wow  together  and  then  we  have  a  field  trip.  We’re  going  to  the  yacht  club  to  yacht…steam,  motor  or  whatever  you  do  on  a  boat.  Which  reminds  me,  I  need  to  pick  up  a  nautical  themed  pashmina  afghan  at  Target  later.”</p><p>Half  of  the  stuff  out  of  your  mouth,  Steve  didn’t  understand.</p><p>Further  just  jackhammering  that  reminder  of  how  different  the  two  of  you  were,  how  vastly  incredibly  different.</p><p>It  was  why  he  felt  the  need  to  make  you  wear  clothes  that  reminded  him  of  the  forties.  It  was  why  your  crap  wasn’t  allowed  in  the  house.  It  was  why  he  wanted  things  a  certain  way.</p><p>If  you  looked  like  you’d  come  out  of  the  ice  with  him,  you  were  just  out  of  his  league.  You  weren’t  so  obviously  out  of  his  stratosphere.  </p><p>If  he  was  no  longer  Captain  America,  or  even  Captain  Hydra,  and  he  wasn’t  Director  Rogers  than  what  was  he?  He  was  Steve  Rogers  and  no  one  wanted  Steve  Rogers.  Well,  no  one  wanted  Steve  Rogers  before  the  serum.</p><p>Hydra  wanted  the  super  soldier.</p><p>Which  left  him  with  what?  It  left  him  with  a  big  fat  nothing.</p><p>He  hadn’t  been  in  the  future  long  enough  to  be  an  Avenger,  for  any  significant  amount  of  time  anyhow.  Or  Captain  America  for  very  long.  Or  even  the  new  and  improved  Steve  Rogers,  modern  man  out  of  time,  very  long  either.  He  didn’t  know  how  to  do  any  of  that.</p><p>He  needed  the  escape  of  time.</p><p>If  you  looked  like  you  had  come  from  the  ice  with  him,  well,  you  were  like  him.  You  were  trapped  like  him.  You  were  stuck  in  this  hellscape  with  him.  At  least  the  old  styles  were  familiar  and  very  flattering  on  you.  Everything  modern  was  ok,  it  was  fine,  but  it  was  tainted.  It  was  tainted  by  Hydra.</p><p>Still  though,  he  found  himself  thinking  back  to  the  things  you  screamed  at  him.  All  the  angry  things  you  shouted  at  one  another.  Like  a  record  in  his  head,  playing  over  and  over.</p><p>Dressed  like  that,  looking  like  that,  he  could  easily  pretend  that  you  were  just  as  trapped  and  stuck  and  confused  as  him.  Even  though  you  were,  but  it  just  made  him  feel  better.  It  made  him  feel  a  little  more  like  you  were  both  on  an  even,  level,  footing  with  one  another.  It  made  him  feel  like  he  had  the  ability  to  deserve  you  and  the  right  to  be  your  husband.  Instead  of  feeling  like  that  ninety  pound  nothing  that  Hydra  wouldn’t  have  given  anything  to,  except  maybe  a  needle  in  the  arm.</p><p>He  would  make  sure  that  he  never  made  you  feel  that  way  again.  He’d  make  sure  you  knew,  that  he  knew,  how  lucky  he  was  to  have  you.  Even  if  he  had  to  sleep  with  a  fucking  stuffed  unicorn  in  the  bed.</p><p>“Why?  Can’t  you  and  Bucky  like…super  soldier  away,  or  something?  Do  you  want  me  to  go  to  tea?  Or  yachting?”</p><p>No.  No.  No.</p><p>None  of  it.</p><p>Sighing  deeply,  Steve  glanced  at  your  painful  looking  shoes.  “Right  now…unfortunately,  you’re  my  sole  source  of  information  concerning  the  wives.  No  matter  how  much  it  pains  me.”</p><p>For  a  second,  you  looked  excited,  pleased  even.</p><p>As  much  as  that  pleased  him,  Steve  wasn’t  about  to  let  you  go  off  yachting  and  having  tea  with  the  Hydra  wives,  in  the  hunt  for  whoever  was  making  Hydra  Wives  vanish.  It  just  was  not  going  to  happen.  God  help  him,  he  was  even  thinking  about  giving  you  your  taser  back.</p><p>“Don’t  get  too  excited.  There  are  going  to  be  ground  rules.  This  is  serious.  This  isn’t  a  game  or  a  tv  show.  Someone  is  out  there  hurting  Hydra  Wives  and  until  we  know  more,  you  need  to  be  extra  careful.  Because  you  have  a  target  on  your  back  too.”</p><p>Both  your  hands  went  up.  The  plain  gold  of  your  wedding  band  flashed.  “I  know,  I  know.”</p><p>Maybe  he’d  get  you  something  different?  Something  pretty?  You’d  been  married  a  while  now.  You  deserved  something  nicer  than  what  the  Hydra  officiant  had  on  hand,  for  your  little  ceremony.</p><p>But  you  were  most  definitely  getting  your  taser  back.</p><p>No  matter  how  much  you  knew,  you  were  going  to  hear  it  again.</p><p>“In  general,  while  this  madman  is  out  there,  I  want  you  to  text  me  every  hour,  on  the  hour,  so  I  know  you’re  safe.  Send  me  a  picture.  I  need  to  know  that  you’re  safe,  alone  and  where  you  are  for  the  time  being.  Ok?”</p><p>“Yes  sir,”  was  your  response.</p><p>It  made  him  roll  his  eyes.</p><p>His  army  days  were  long  behind  him,  especially  now.</p><p>“I’ll  get  you  the  information  you  need  and  tonight,  we’ll  go  over  everything  for  tomorrow.  Before  you  go  to  meet  with  the  wives,  we  will  go  over  everything  and  when  you’re  done  meeting  with  them,  you  come  and  find  me  so  we  can  discuss  it.  Got  it?  This  is  not  a  game.  This  is  serious  and  we’re  going  to  treat  it  as  such.”</p><p>“I  know  it’s  serious,”  you  parroted  back  like  an  admonished  teen,  having  heard  the  same  lecture  yet  again.</p><p>“And  where  are  you  going  next?”</p><p>Like  that  teenager,  you  sighed  loudly,  “Target.  I  wanted  to  get  an  ice  cream  cake  for  Peter  when  he  gets  home  tonight.  Plus  a  couple  other  things.  Then  I  was  gonna  go  home  and  look  up  some  of  things  online  about  the  wives,  and  probably  just  chill  out  till  you  or  Bucky  got  home.  And  then  I’ll  make  Peter’s  favorite  dinner  and  burn  something  else,  just  for  you.”</p><p>Honestly,  there  was  but  one  response  for  that  last  bit  out  of  your  mouth.</p><p>Steve  curled  a  finger  at  you.</p><p>You  shook  your  head.  A  flush  warming  your  cheeks,  making  your  throat  swallow  nervously.</p><p>“Do  you  want  to  wear  that  plug  all  day?”</p><p>Shifting  on  your  feet,  he  watched  you  with  a  tilt  of  his  head,  consider  your  options.  </p><p>“It  better  still  be  in  there.”</p><p>“It  is!”  </p><p>Your  response  was  too  quick,  too  snarky.  It  caught  his  interest  even  more.  Much  like  a  shark  in  the  water.</p><p>Once  more,  Steve  motioned  for  you  to  come  forth  and  with  a  deep  sigh,  you  blew  out  a  noisy  breath  and  stepped  forward.  Not  entirely  meeting  his  gaze.</p><p>In  reaching  for  you,  you  wound  up  shifting  to  the  side.  “Can’t  I  just  take  it  out  at  home?  You  know…I  don’t  want  to  make  a  mess.  Considering  what  you  put  in  there  before  the  plugging.”</p><p>Unimpressed  with  that  line  of  reasoning,  Steve  grabbed  your  hips  and  pulled  you  forward,  never  tiring  of  how  you  felt  beneath  his  hands.  So  warm  and  soft  and  alive.  Without  any  real  difficulty,  he  spun  you  around  and  began  to  tug  up  the  skirt  of  your  dress.</p><p>“Ok  fine.  Do  it  here.  Make  a  mess.  Whatever.  See  if  I  care.”</p><p>You  were  worried  about  making  a  mess?</p><p>That  would  have  been  a  first.</p><p>Even  more  unimpressed,  until  he  caught  the  sight  of  undergarments  he’d  previously  banned.  Little  unicorns  and  hearts  decorated  a  pair  of  bikini  briefs.  Before  any  sort  of  remark  concerning  your  insubordination  could  be  made,  Steve  caught  the  distinct  smell  of  your  arousal,  which  led  to  further  exploration.  Such  exploration  led  to  the  tugging  down  of  those  cotton  briefs,  over  the  swell  of  your  perfect  posterior.  Which  he  nipped  at  first,  making  you  gasp  and  shift  on  your  heels.</p><p>A  sight,  unlike  any  other  previously  seen  in  his  office,  greeted  him.</p><p>Several  actually,  all  of  which  had  him  groaning,  your  insubordination  forgotten.</p><p>You  weren’t  wet.  </p><p>You  were  drenched.</p><p>In  sliding  down  your  panties,  he  noticed  a  wad  of  soft  worn  cotton  that  was  his  handkerchief,  wetly  stuck  to  your  slimy  panties.  Obviously  having  been  some  sort  of  an  absorption  implement.</p><p>Strings  of  arousal  clung  to  the  lingerie  before  falling  away,  or  sticking  to  your  inner  thighs,  that  were  already  slippery  as  well.</p><p>You  were  so  wet,  it  almost  distracted  him  from  the  cobalt  jeweled  plug  between  your  cheeks.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>“And  what  were  you  going  to  do  when  you  go  home  and  took  this  out?”</p><p>A  pause  followed.</p><p>Leading  Steve  to  press  on  the  side  of  that  jeweled  silicon  plug,  making  you  squirm  so  beautifully  for  him.</p><p>“Were  you  going  to  touch  yourself?”</p><p>Movement  made  the  plug,  which  had  sort  of  settled  in  a  bit,  burn  and  throb  once  more.  Made  you  wince  and  focus  on  not  making  any  big  sudden  movements.</p><p>“No…”  you  whispered  when  he  pulled  at  the  plug,  gasping  as  it  pulled  against  your  ass,  pulled  on  the  tight  muscles  that  clenched  around  the  toy.  “…I  would’ve…used  a  toy.”</p><p>And  if  Steve  was  being  totally  honest  with  himself.  He  hadn’t  planned  on  yet  another  sexual  encounter  with  you.  No.  After  last  night  and  that  morning,  plus  sticking  the  plug  in  you,  you  deserved  a  rest.  </p><p>On  the  other  hand,  though,  if  you  were  planning  on  riding  one  out  on  a  toy…</p><p>Well,  he  wasn’t  about  to  let  that  happen,  not  when  you  were  this  wet.  Not  when  you  were  this  high  strung  from  the  plug.  No.  Absolutely  not.</p><p>Letting  go  of  the  plug,  he  leaned  down  to  grab  the  hanky  he’d  given  you  ages  ago  and  as  best  as  he  could,  since  it  was  wetter  than  wet,  he  wiped  your  swollen  pussy  down.  So  eager  and  puffy  and  wet  and  absolutely  begging  to  be  filled.</p><p>“Hold  this  doll.”</p><p>You  didn’t  even  look,  you  held  out  your  hand  as  he  stood  up  behind  you.  You  didn’t  react  when  he  put  the  cloth  tissue  in  your  hand.  </p><p>You  did  react  when  you  heard  his  belt  unbuckle.</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>Hesitant  and  unsure,  all  bratty  sass  gone.</p><p>When  he  shoved  his  grey  slacks  and  briefs  down  to  his  ankles,  you  knew  what  was  going  to  happen  and  you  began  to  tremble  in  excited  anticipation.  </p><p>“Cat  got  your  tongue?”</p><p>Once  more,  he  tugged  on  the  plug.  Making  your  eyes  clench  and  your  bottom  burn  and  pulse.  “I’m  sorry  Director.  I’m  sorry  Sir.”</p><p>Steve  actually  felt  himself  leak.  He  felt  pre-ejaculate  drip  onto  his  knee.  </p><p>And  there  you  were,  right  on  the  same  page  as  him.</p><p>You  gasped  when  he  drew  the  tip  of  his  tongue  along  the  shell  of  your  ear,  in  time  with  a  twerk  of  that  jeweled  plug.</p><p>“What  are  you  sorry  for?”</p><p>What  came  next  out  of  you  was  breathy,  gaspy,  and  sent  both  your  fists  onto  the  desk.  </p><p>If  his  heart  stopped  from  a  lack  of  blood  circulating  around  his  body,  Steve  wouldn’t  have  been  shocked.</p><p>“I’m  so  sorry  Sir.  I  was  a  mouthy  and  rude.  I  was  a  bad  secretary.”</p><p>Teeth  nipped  at  your  ear,  making  you  shiver.</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>You  noticed  that  he  took  the  handkerchief  from  you.  Left  on  your  palm  was  a  wetness  that  just  killed  you.  There  was  a  fire  roaring  between  your  legs  still,  more  so  now  perhaps,  as  your  body  clenched  in  anticipation  of  what  was  about  to  happen.  Making  you  breathlessly  agree,  “Again,  yes  Sir.”</p><p>His  breath  was  hot  against  your  ear  as  he  jerked  around  behind  you,  wiping  the  cloth  square  over  his  length  to  get  it  ready.  Nearly  coming  in  his  own  hand  like  a  teenager  because  it  felt  so  good,  because  he  was  so  keyed  up.  Because  you  were  his  wife  and  playing  along  with  this  little  game  that  the  two  of  you  had  far  too  much  fun  with.  “What  do  we  do  with  misbehaving  brats?”</p><p>Steve  let  go  of  himself,  tossing  the  wet  cloth  onto  his  chair  with  a  sounding  noise,  before  he  accidentally  tugged  himself  off  with  his  beautiful  wife  in  his  arms.</p><p>Boy  would  that  piss  him  off.</p><p>“We  spank  them  Sir.”</p><p>Normally,  indeed  they  were  spanked.</p><p>Although,  you’d  had  that  plug  in  your  ass  for  long  enough.  It  winked  up  at  him  from  where  it  was  nestled.  Taunting  him.  Sending  his  hand  down  to  grip  it  and  whisper  in  your  ear.  “Not  today  we  don’t.”</p><p>Out  came  the  plug.</p><p>Smoothly  from  a  mixture  of  your  arousal  and  his  spend  from  earlier  that  morning.  Still  though,  it  was  not  a  painless  evacuation.  It  burnt  and  left  you  gaping,  blinking,  processing  what  was  about  to  happen.  </p><p>Grabbing  your  chin  and  extra  careful  not  to  smear  your  lipstick,  Steve  jerked  your  face  to  face  his,  to  get  a  true  and  honest  reaction.  “You  good?  Where  do  you  want  it?”</p><p>Your  shock  from  the  sudden  plug  removal  did  not  last.</p><p>His  concern,  his  pausing  to  be  sure  that  you  were  ok  with  this,  always  just  hit  you  right  in  the  feels.  Somehow  you  doubted  Cristal’s  husband  was  this  much  fun.  Even  on  his  stupid  honeymoon  with  your  friend.  </p><p>You  pouted.  You  stomped  your  little  foot.  Extra  sure  to  stomp  on  Steve’s  leather  loafer  hard  enough  to  smudge  it,  but  extra  careful  to  keep  the  heel  from  making  impact.  That  would  totally  kill  the  mood.  </p><p>“Not  there,  Sir.  My  boyfriend  told  me  that’s  the  devils  playground.”</p><p>Now  you  weren’t  sure  where  that  little  flash  of  inspiration  came  from,  but,  it  seemed  to  do  the  trick.  Mention  of  the  imaginary  boyfriend  always  brought  out  the  fighting  little  Irishman  in  Steve,  always  to  your  delight.</p><p>A  muscular  arm  banded  around  your  chest,  pulling  you  against  him  and  were  you  ever  happy  you’d  worn  the  highest  of  your  heels.  Especially  when  you  felt  his  head  nudge  between  your  tender  cheeks,  pressing  at  your  entrance  that  still  stung  and  throbbed  from  that  damn  plug.</p><p>It  was  all  pretend.  Steve  knew  it  was  all  pretend.</p><p>It  didn’t  mean  that  Steve  wasn’t  inflamed  at  the  mere  suggestion,  the  mere  idea  and  yes,  he  knew  he  had  issues.  He  was  a  walking  issue.  Hearing  those  words  come  from  your  mouth  sent  him  down  a  road  of  hellfire.  Determined  to  possess  and  conquer  and  claim.  Pressing  his  slimy  erection  against  your  sphincter,  through  that  tight  ring,  making  you  hoarsely  suck  in  air  and  wiggle  in  his  grip.  He  bit  your  ear  and  seethed,  pushing  in  further.  “What  did  I  tell  you  about  him!  Get  rid  of  him!  I  don’t  want  to  hear  about  him  and  I  don’t  share.”</p><p>And  shit  were  you  squeezing  him.  No  matter  how  many  times  he  was  in  your  ass,  or  your  cunt,  you  always  squeezed  the  life  out  of  him.  It  was  no  different  then.  Pushing  in  till  the  curve  of  your  ass  was  seated  against  his  pelvis.</p><p>All  of  which  was  so  much,  too  much,  absolutely  far  too  much.  Your  head  felt  like  it  was  about  to  explode.  Your  body  did  its  best  to  get  used  to  the  alien  intrusion  in  your  rectum.  Because  shit,  he  was  big,  far  too  big.</p><p>“Feel  that…he’ll  never  make  you  feel  this  full.  You’ll  never  feel  this  full,  feel  this  good  with  anyone  else.  Will  he?  Can  he  make  you  feel  this  good?”</p><p>“No  Sir,”  you  gasped,  getting  shoved  and  rocked  and  pushed  forward,  feeling  Steve’s  other  hand  slid  down  the  front  of  you  and  sank  into  your  once  more  weeping  pussy,  sinking  his  hand  in  as  noisily  as  possible.  All  while  he  pumped  into  you.  Fucked  your  ass.  Because  there  was  no  other  way  to  put  it.  He  was  rough,  each  stroke  shoved  you  forward  and  ripped  noises  from  you,  exciting  you  and  the  way  his  thumb  brushed  over  your  clit,  as  his  fingers  pushed  up  into  your  pussy,  was  inspired.  “Only  you  make  me  feel  this  good  Sir.  Only  you  fill  me  up  this  good  Sir.  Only  you  fuck  me  this  good  Sir.  I’m  sorry  Sir.  I’ll  be  good  Sir.  Please  fuck  me  more  Sir.”</p><p>Gone,  he  was  gone  the  second  his  tip  passed  the  boundary.  Stroking  your  clit  while  rubbing  that  rough  spot  of  tissue  up  inside  of  you,  making  you  completely  shatter  in  his  arms,  that  was  perfect.</p><p>Steve  came  but  he  didn’t  care.  He  erupted  in  your  ass,  in  a  clenching  violent  spasm  that  rocked  him  from  the  inside  out,  emptying  what  felt  like  his  entire  sac  inside  of  you,  sending  his  hips  against  you  harder  in  a  fury.  Your  words  only  fueling  the  fire  that  raged.  Making  him  tighten  his  grip  around  you  and  hold  you  closer.  Hissing  furiously  against  your  hair,  which  got  in  his  face  and  stuck  to  his  wet  lips.  “Your  damn  right!  Only  me.  Your  mine  and  mine  alone.  Only  I  get  this  ass  and  this  pussy  and  this  mouth.  This  body  is  mine.  Your  soul  is  mine.  Because  you  have  mine  and  its  not  fucking  fair.”  </p><p>When  he  felt  you  unwind,  break  apart,  shudder  violently  against  him,  Steve  caught  your  mouth  in  a  kiss  to  keep  you  somewhat  quiet,  forgetting  and  no  longer  caring  about  smearing  lipstick.  Because  your  kisses  belonged  to  him  too.  Along  with  your  orgasms,  since  you  already  owned  every  last  bit  of  him.</p><p>It  was  only  fair.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Target</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Taking  a  bath.</p><p>That  was  now  number  one  on  your  list.</p><p>Because  you  were  filthy.</p><p>Ok  so  sure,  outwardly  you  looked  hella  amazing.  Your  midnight  blue  dress  was  stunning,  your  nails  looked  great,  your  reapplication  of  lipstick  was  fierce.  Your  hair  now  had  a  fun  tousled  look  to  it.  And  your  heels,  oh  they  were  just  magnificent.</p><p>On  the  other  hand,  you’d  had  more  orgasms  that  day  alone  than  you’d  had  during  your  entire  last  year  of  high  school,  when  you’d  lost  your  virginity.</p><p>As  best  as  you  could,  you’d  cleaned  up.</p><p>Once  you  got  home  however,  you  had  a  standing  appointment  with  the  tub,  for  an  hour-long  bubble  bath.  Although  this  time,  you  actually  did  need  a  bath.  And  with  the  dirty  knowledge  of  what  had  just  transpired  with  Steve,  you  found  an  ice  cream  cake,  plus  a  few  other  things  relatively  quickly  and  hurried  out  of  the  store,  to  the  underground  parking  garage.</p><p>Ok,  so  sure,  you  forgot  what  floor  your  driver  had  parked  on.  And  then  when  you  went  to  text  him,  you  saw  that  your  phone  wasn’t  getting  a  signal.  Which  was  just  so  typical  for  your  type  of  luck.</p><p>And  that  led  you  to  a  crossroads.</p><p>Walk  all  the  way  out  of  the  garage,  to  go  into  Target  and  make  a  call  to  have  your  driver  come  get  you?  Or  maybe  go  wander  and  find  him?  The  garage  wasn’t  the  size  of  freakin  Maryland.  Surely  you  could  go  find  your  diver.  How  hard  could  it  be?  Really?  You  were  a  modern  fierce  woman  with  and  ice  cream  cake.  You  could  find  a  black  Lincoln  in  a  parking  lot  at  Target.  How  hard  could  it  be?</p><p>Well?</p><p>As  it  turned  out.</p><p>It  wasn’t  entirely  easy.</p><p>One  floor  was  easy  enough  to  rule  out.  The  second  floor  had  apparently  every  black  car  on  earth,  except  the  one  that  Hydra  had  ferrying  your  happy  ass  all  over  hell  and  creation.</p><p>Lucky  for  you,  there  were  only  three  floors.</p><p>Upon  scouring  that  third  floor,  you  began  to  wonder  if  your  driver  had  parked  somewhere  other  than  the  subterranean  garage?  Because  where  the  hell  else  would  he  be?</p><p>By  the  time  came  that  you’d  scoured  three  floors,  you  were  a  wee  bit  sweaty  and  had  decided  that  you  were  done.  You  stopped  walking  between  a  row  of  vehicles  and  reached  for  your  purse.  </p><p>Which,  you  realized,  was  in  the  car.</p><p>This  led  numerous  profanities  to  spring  forth  from  your  mouth.</p><p>You  took  a  few  steps,  swearing  up  a  storm,  then  stopped.  You  did  have  your  phone  though.  Upon  climbing  out  up  above,  where  the  sun  shone,  you’d  told  your  driver  you’d call  when  you  were  ready  and  grabbed  your  phone  and  debit  card,  not  wanting  to  haul  around  your  purse.</p><p>Duh.</p><p>This  led  you  to  put  Peter’s  cake  on  the  trunk  of  a  nearby  BMW,  then  feeling  around  for  the  discreet  little  pocket  on  your  dress.</p><p>Something  got  your  attention.</p><p>Whether  it  was  the  sound  of  shoes  on  slick  garage  concrete.  Or  maybe  movement?  Possibly  your  intuition,  or  even  a  flash  of  something  from  the  corner  of  your  eye?</p><p>Hell,  it  could  have  been  your  guardian  angel.</p><p>All  you  knew  was,  you  glanced  up  at  the  perfect  time.  Looking  up  to  see  a  muscular  man  in  a  purple  knit  ski  mask  come  at  you  swiftly,  surely,  a  baton  in  his  gloved  hand  and  for  a  second,  you  just  stared.</p><p>It  was  not  a  normal  sight.</p><p>It  was  most  abnormal.</p><p>Why  on  earth  was  this  man  wearing  a  full  faced  purple  mask  in  public?  </p><p>When  he  swung  that  baton  at  you,  then  you  understood.</p><p>You  jumped  back.  You  hurried  away  as  quickly  as  you  could  in  your  shoes,  only  narrowly  missing  his  first  swing  with  that  baton.  It  would  have  connected  with  your  temple,  surely  knocking  you  senseless.</p><p>His  next  swing  connected.</p><p>That  baton  hit  your  side  hard,  and  then  again  and  again,  sending  ratcheting  agony  through  you.  Explosions  of  pain,  bright  lights  and  ringing  bells,  you  couldn’t  even  scream  the  pain  was  so  sudden,  so  severe.  </p><p>Never  in  your  life  had  you  been  hit  so  hard,  so  fiercely,  so  violently.</p><p>You’d  never  been  hit  by  someone  actually  trying  to  severely  hurt  you.</p><p>Said  baton  hit  you  in  the  face  and  you  fought  to  stay  upright.  You  tasted  blood.  Your  mouth  stung  and  then  upside  the  head,  which  you  heard  more  than  felt.  Like  a  loud  clunk.</p><p>And  for  a  second…there  was  a  long  buzz…humming…a  spacing  out  as  your  body  disconnected  from  itself.</p><p>Oddly,  you  weren’t  standing.</p><p>You  weren’t  in  pain  either.</p><p>It  was  weird…almost  trippy.</p><p>You  could  feel  your  chest  heaving.  You  could  feel  someone’s  knee  on  your  chest,  pinning  you  down  to  the  garage  floor,  grabbing  your  wrist  and  there  was  an  off  sensation…that  you  were  floating  for  a  second.</p><p>You  swore  you  heard  Steve.</p><p>You  swore  you  heard  his  voice.</p><p>
  <em>Get  up.</em>
</p><p>You  could  have  sworn  you  heard  him.  </p><p>
  <em>You  have  to  get  up.  You  have  to  fight.  You  cannot  let  him  take  you.</em>
</p><p>Metal  snapped  tightly  around  your  wrist.</p><p>
  <em>Get  up  and  fight.  You  need  to  come  home  to  me.</em>
</p><p>Purple  mask  grabbed  for  your  other  arm  and  you  fought,  you  struggled.  As  if  you’d  been  zapped,  you  began  to  fight.  He  grabbed  your  other  wrist  anyway,  easily  overpowering  you.</p><p>Panic.</p><p>It  sank  its  terrifying  claws  deep  in  your  chest,  till  you  were  filled  with  ice  and  just  grabbed  the  other  handcuff.  Slapping  it  on  the  same  wrist,  ensuring  with  both  metal  cuffs  on  your  wrist,  that  they  couldn’t  be  used  against  you.  He  couldn’t  get  your  hands  behind  you.  He  couldn’t  incapacitate  you.</p><p>His  hands  were  on  your  neck  and  you  looked  up  into  his  eyes.</p><p>Cold  eyes.</p><p>Dead  eyes.</p><p>Emotionless  eyes.</p><p>No  anger.  No  hate.  No  arousal.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>His  grip  around  your  throat  was  absolute,  and  you  could  not  breathe  at  all.</p><p>He  was  going  to  strangle  you  till  you  blacked  out.  Of  that,  you  were  certain.</p><p>Desperately  your  hands  went  up,  dug  at  his  gloves,  clawed  at  his  sleeves  and  tried  so  hard  to  get  free,  to  get  his  hands  off  your  neck.  You  fought.  </p><p>You  fought  so  hard.</p><p>You  fought  so  hard  and  it  wasn’t  enough.  </p><p>This  man  was  so  much  stronger,  so  easily  able  to  overpower  you.  When  you  kicked  out,  he  pushed  you  further  back  onto  the  concrete.  When  you  kicked  at  the  floor,  he  put  more  weight  on  you.  </p><p>Your  brain  screamed  at  you.  Your  lungs  burnt  for  air.  You  became  very  aware  of  the  arteries  in  your  neck  and  blindly,  desperately,  you  reached  down,  reached  for  something,  anything,  anything  at  all.</p><p>Your  hand  wrapped  around  something  smooth,  leather.</p><p>Whipping  it  up,  you  jammed  your  four-and-a-half  inch  long  pump  in  this  man’s  mask.</p><p>As  dots  were  starting  to  appear  in  your  vision,  you  couldn’t  say  where  it  exactly  connected.  All  you  knew  for  sure  was  it  sank  in  deep.  All  you  knew  for  sure  was  he  screamed.  All  you  knew  for  sure  was  he  bellowed  out  in  pain,  his  hands  were  gone,  his  weight  was  gone.</p><p>Frantically,  you  sucked  in  air  and  coughed.</p><p>You  sucked  in  more  air  and  coughed.  </p><p>You  sucked  in  more  air  and  coughed,  as  the  air  burnt,  as  your  eyes  watered,  as  your  throat  stung  and  the  man  continued  to  scream.  You  watched  him  fling  your  shoe  across  the  garage  and  you  grabbed  your  other  pump.</p><p>Knowing  if  he  put  his  hands  back  on  you,  you  were  dead.</p><p>You  had  to  get  away.</p><p>Coughing  still,  you  stumbled  up  and  ran.</p><p>
  <em>Run.  Get  out  of  there.  Go.</em>
</p><p>Twice  you  tripped.</p><p>Garage  smooth  under  your  bare  feet.</p><p>You’d  only  just  taken  a  few  steps,  heart  pounding,  brain  screaming  at  you  to  <em>run  run  run  run  run  run</em>.</p><p>A  hand  grabbed  your  dress.  Fingers  dug  into  your  hip  deeply.</p><p>“No!”</p><p>It  was  the  first  word  you  said,  screamed  actually  and  it  made  him  look  up  at  you.  It  fueled  you  to  hit  him  with  your  other  shoe.  Over  and  over.  Again  and  again.  Until  it  broke  off  in  his  shoulder  and  you  were  forced  to  claw  at  his  face  with  your  nails,  to  hit  him  and  shove  him,  kick  at  him,  until  you  were  free  and  running.</p><p>And  you  ran.</p><p>You  ran.</p><p>You’d  never  run  so  fast.</p><p>He  yelled,  swore  at  you.</p><p>You  kept  running.</p><p>You  ran  as  fast  as  your  feet  would  carry  you  and  then  you  ran  even  faster.</p><p>You  ran  up  the  stairwell  until  you  were  outside.  You  ran  and  ran  and  ran,  turning  left,  darting  right,  running  and  running  until  you  could  run  no  more.</p><p>You  ran  until  you  threw  up  behind  a  dumpster.  Gasping.  Unable  to  pull  in  enough  air,  it  felt  like  you  couldn’t  get  enough  oxygen  and  then,  you  lifted  the  lid  and  crawled  in  that  dumpster.</p><p>For  a  while  you  stayed  in  there.  </p><p>Until  you  remembered  you  still  had  your  cell  phone.  </p><p>After  a  while,  you  realized  that  you  would  have  to  get  the  phone  out  of  your  dress  pocket,  to  make  a  call.  </p><p>Eventually  you  did  so.</p><p>You  meant  to  call  your  driver  to  pick  you  up.</p><p>It  turned  out,  you  were  pretty  sure  you  called  Steve.  You  begged  Steve  to  come  get  you,  pled  with  him  hysterically,  screeched  for  him.</p><p>You’d  actually  called  Bucky.</p><p>But  that  was  ok.</p><p>It  took  both  of  them  to  find  you,  what  felt  like  hours  later.  It  could  have  been  one  or  two  or  four  hours,  hidden  in  that  dumpster.  </p><p>Hidden.  </p><p>Down  under  several  bags  of  trash,  clutching  your  phone  and  shaking,  too  terrified  to  cry  or  move,  or  even  utter  a  word,  even  when  you  heard  their  voices  shouting  for  you.</p><p>It  was  Bucky  who  found  you.</p><p>Bucky  who  flipped  the  heavy  plastic  lid  of  the  dumpster  open.  </p><p>Bucky,  who  scanned  the  contents,  frowning,  his  eyes  pausing  at  the  sight  of  you,  taking  in  everything  and  then,  calmly,  without  moving,  calling  out,  “Steve…I  found  her…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a  brief  moment,  Steve  thought  you  were  dead.</p><p>You  sure  as  hell  looked  dead.</p><p>You  didn’t  look  like  yourself.</p><p>On  the  other  hand,  thinking  you  were  dead  had  nothing  to  do  with  your  battered  condition.  Or  the  blood  splattered  on  your  clothing  and  skin,  or  the  fact  you  were  hiding  among  trash,  in  a  dumpster.</p><p>It  was  all  in  how  Bucky  reacted  to  you.</p><p>James  Buchanan  Barnes  became  quieter  than  usual,  cold,  distant  perhaps.  Realizing,  just  what  a  nightmare  had  befallen,  their  little  tightknit  four-person  band  of  dysfunction.  </p><p>His  chest  could  have  been  in   a  vice.</p><p>It  tightened.</p><p>He  stepped  over  to  the  dumpster.</p><p>Tightened.</p><p>James  didn’t  look  away,  looking  instead  like  he  was  bracing  himself  for  some  bad  times.</p><p>Tightening.  Twisting.</p><p>His  metal  hand  gripped  the  edge  of  the  dumpster,  hauling  his  weight  up  and  over  the  lip,  into  the  trash  and  god  knew  what  else.  Blue  rusty  metal  cannister  groaning  beneath  his  weight.</p><p>Steve  looked  in.</p><p>Tighter.  Tighter.  Tighter.</p><p>You  blinked  up  at  him  and  his  breath  came  out  in  a  painful  burst.</p><p>You  were  alive.</p><p>You  were  living  and  breathing  and  that  was  all  that  mattered.</p><p>Obviously,  Steve  could  see  that  something  horrible  had  happened  and  you  were  in  shock.  All  things  considered,  he  may  have  been  a  little  bit  himself.  </p><p>Up  until  James  lifted  you,  as  gently  as  someone  with  a  metal  arm  could,  dressed  in  Steve’s  altered  Captain  Hydra  Suit  that  had  been  let  out  in  areas  to  accommodate  the  brunette.  It  was  certainly  going  to  need  to  go  to  the  cleaners.  </p><p>“Steve.”</p><p>The  rough  bark  cut  through  everything  like  it  always  did.  A  gust  of  wind  to  fog.  Ripping  it  away.  Centering  him.  Bringing  him  back.  Taking  away  the  cloying  smell  of  the  dumpster.  Removing  him  from  the  alleyway  behind  a  steakhouse.  </p><p>Steve  blinked.  He  reached  out  in  the  next  second,  as  James  pulled  you  up  out  of  that  sea  of  trash.  You  were  mumbling  something  nonsensical  about  purple,  cake  and  your  shoes.  </p><p>Your  feet  were  bare  Steve  noticed.</p><p>His  jaw  clenched.</p><p>You  were  making  no  sense  and  that  ice  within  melted,  began  to  turn  into  something  else,  something  far  worse.  Something  he  hadn’t  felt  since  his  arrest  by  Hydra  after  Project  Insight  succeeded.  Evolving  into  something  that  burned.</p><p>At  first,  he  didn’t  understand  why  James  lifted  you  up  beneath  your  pits,  like  a  child.  Not  till  James  told  him  to  grab  your  legs.</p><p>Oh  how  it  burned.</p><p>The  soles  of  your  feet  were  dirty  and  scratched  up.</p><p>Burned  and  rolled.</p><p>In  his  hands,  your  calves  shook,  your  knees  rattled.  You  would  have  never  been  able  to  climb  out  on  your  own.  How  you  managed  to  get  in  there  was  just  beyond  him.  </p><p>Flickered  and  grew  hotter.</p><p>Little  hands  with  broken  jagged  nails  dug  into  burgundy  sleeves  covering  James’s  wrist  frantically.  On  your  ring  finger,  your  wedding  band  was  broken.</p><p>Hotter  it  grew,  stronger,  hungrier.</p><p>“S’ok,  we’re  not  going  to  drop  you.  Reach  for  Steve.” </p><p>Just  as  your  hips  slipped  over  the  edge  of  dumpster,  midnight  dress  stained  from  the  dumpster  taut  over  your  hips,  frantic  blood  stained  hands  reached  outwards,  forward.  And  Steve  had  every  intention  of  gently  holding  you  to  his  chest,  carefully  carrying  you  to  the  car.  </p><p>He  just  wasn’t  able  to  pull  it  off.</p><p>You  grabbed  his  grey  jacket,  dirtying  it.  Pulling  yourself  to  him,  snaking  your  arms  around  his  neck,  in  your  desperate  need  to  get  into  the  safety  of  his  strong  arms.  Kicking  out  your  legs,  they  wrapped  around  his  waist.  Nothing  short  of  dynamite  would  get  you  out  of  his  grip.  Unable  to  stop  the  shaking  of  your  entire  body,  you  shoved  your  face  against  the  fabric  of  his  suit  where  it  was  safe.  Where  you  could  smell  him.  Where  it  was  familiar,  secure,  where  nothing  could  hurt  you.  A  shudder  wracked  you.</p><p>Not  that  you  felt  much  of  anything  other  than  numb.  </p><p>Deep  down,  you  knew  that  wasn’t  going  to  last.  Deep  down,  you  knew  you  were  full  of  adrenaline  that  would  start  to  go  away,  now  that  Steve  was  here.  Deep  down,  way  down  there,  your  body  knew  it  was  safe  and  you  didn’t  have  to  prepare  for  that  next  fight,  that  next  flight.</p><p>Which  he  noticed.</p><p>You  stunk.</p><p>You  smelled  like  trash,  blood,  sweat,  vomit.</p><p>Bucky’s  voice  was  like  a  slap  to  your  face.</p><p>“Steve.”</p><p>On  the  other  hand,  Steve  hardly  heard  his  friend.  Being  so  close,  he  could  make  out  the  red  marks  and  swelling  on  your  neck.  A  mark  on  your  face  that  was  obviously  from  a  baton.  Clear  as  day  to  him.  A  bump  on  your  head  pressed  against  his  shoulder.</p><p>Someone  had  most  unfortunately  put  their  hands  on  his  wife.</p><p>“What  are  you  thinking  Steve?”</p><p>Steve  didn’t  know  what  he  was  thinking  exactly.  There  was  a  lot  going  on  in  his  mind  at  that  very  second  in  time.  He  looked  at  his  friend,  up  in  the  dumpster  as  he  adjusted  you  on  the  front  of  him,  secured  you  even  more  with  an  arm  banded  firmly  behind  you.</p><p>“If  we  take  her  to  the  hospital  like  that,  they’ll  call  the  cops.  If  the  cops  show  up,  they’ll  call  the  peons  at  Hydra.  Hydra’s  going  to  harass  her  just  like  they  did  after  the  bombing,  like  they  harassed  Peter  and  you.  If  the  ER  calls  the  cops  and  they  call  Hydra…it  will  be  out  of  our  hands  Steve.  Do  you  want  that?  Do  you  want  Hydra  to  handle  this,  or  do  you  want  to  deal  with  this?  Me  and  you?  I  know  of  a  doctor,  a  private  discreet  one.  You  and  me  can  handle  this.”</p><p>Unsure,  Steve  hesitated.</p><p>Steve  thought  about  it.</p><p>Steve  burnt.  He  simmered.  Deep  breaths  went  in  his  nose  and  out,  his  jaw  clenched,  his  grip  on  you  grew  tighter  as  you  shook,  trembled.  This  was  a  nightmare.  Chaos.  An  uncontrollable  storm  thrown  in  your  lives  that  already  were  not  your  own.  </p><p>How  could  he  fathom  it?  How  could  he  begin  to  understand  how  this  had  happened,  how  it  had  been  able  to  transpire?</p><p>Your  voice  broke,  was  weak,  quiet.  “I  wanna  go  home.”</p><p>Bending  down,  James  vanished  into  the  dumpster.  Steve  heard  him  moving  bags  of  trash  around,  shuffling,  metal  protesting  beneath  his  weight.  Upon  standing,  in  James’s  hand  was  your  cell  phone  and  something  that  was  cloth,  knit  and  purple.</p><p>Steve’s  eyebrows  went  up.</p><p>Lifting  it  to  his  nose,  James  smelled  the  warm  knit  item.  It  smelled  like  a  man,  sweat  and  shampoo.  It  smelled  like  your  blood.  It  smelled  like  someone  else’s  blood.  And,  upon  further  inspection,  James  noticed  something  caught  in  the  purple  knit,  trapped  between  yarn  stitches,  a  broken  nail.  A  broken  nude  nail  with  a  couple  little  gemstones  on  the  tip.  Exactly  how  you’d  done  your  nails  the  other  day.  The  fact  you’d  brandished  them  in  front  of  his  face  made  him  remember.</p><p>When  he  looked  back  at  his  friend,  he  nodded  in  confirmation.</p><p>Yeah,  it’d  come  from  your  attacker.</p><p>Yeah,  no,  there  would  be  no  visits  to  the  hospital.  There  would  be  no  interference  from  Hydra.  The  doctor  that  James  knew  would  be  their  first  stop.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Steve  spent  hours  cleaning  you  up.</p><p>After  hours  at  Doctor  Cho’s  Clinic,  he  finally  took  you  home.  </p><p>All  things  considered,  it  wasn’t  that  bad.  </p><p>On  more  than  one  occasion,  back  when  he  was  growing  up,  he’d  had  his  ass  beat  far  worse.  But  that  was  different.  That  was  him.  That  was  then.  That  wasn’t  his  wife.  That  wasn’t  now.</p><p>A  few  x-rays  and  scans  later,  you  had  bruising  to  your  kidney.</p><p>A  few  stitches  later  and  the  inside  of  your  mouth  was  sewn  up.</p><p>It  hurt  to  swallow.  It  was  beginning  to  hurt  to  lift  your  arms  above  your  head.  Your  head  pounded.  A  really  nice  Korean  doctor  lady  had  to  pick  a  hunk  of  glass  out  of  your  foot,  one  that  you  must  have  picked  up  somewhere.  Not  that  you’d  ever  felt  it.</p><p>Therefore,  it  was  safe  to  say,  on  the  way  home,  you’d  begun  to  feel  utterly  dreadful.</p><p>It  was  very  safe  to  say,  you  let  Steve  gently  trim  your  ripped  fingernails,  wash  your  hands  with  absolute  care  and  then  file  down  any  edges  or  rough  spots.  The  super-soldier  must  have  spent  an  hour  doing  only  that,  giving  each  of  your  fingers  individual  attention.</p><p>Even  though  he  threw  the  sweats  away  that  you’d  been  given  at  the  clinic  to  wear,  he  cut  them  off  of  you,  not  wanting  you  to  have  to  lift  up  your  sore  arms  or  stand  too  long  on  your  hurt  foot.</p><p>You  were  quiet  and  so  grateful  he  hadn’t  asked  a  million  questions.  Your  head  pounded  and  you  just  wanted  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  Somehow,  when  he  drew  you  a  bath,  you  managed  to  softly  thank  him.  Clinging  onto  his  big  steady  hands  when  you  climbed  into  the  just  slightly  more  than  warm  water.</p><p>Steve  helped  you  get  comfortable  and  plopped  up  your  foot,  so  stitches  didn’t  get  wet.  </p><p>It  took  well  over  an  hour  for  him  to  help  clean  you  up.  Soaping  up  a  wash  cloth  to  brush  over  your  skin,  then  rinsing  with  the  bath  water.  Extra  careful  around  all  the  bruises,  cuts,  scraps  and  marks.  He  kissed  your  shoulder  and  told  you  how  strong  you  were  and  how  proud  of  you  he  was,  what  a  good  job  you  had  done  in  escaping.  </p><p>Longest  though,  was  the  time  it  took  to  wash  your  hair.  Something  sticky  was  in  it  that  had  to  be  conditioned  twice.</p><p>Steve  wound  up  refilling  the  bathwater,  not  that  you  seemed  to  notice.  You  were  pretty  out  of  it.  Functioning  solely  on  autopilot.  He  was  floored  you  were  still  upright.  Between  the  shock  of  your  attack,  your  injuries,  a  total  lack  of  adrenaline  by  now  and  the  pills  that  Doctor  Cho  had  loaded  into  you,  you  should  have  been  out  like  a  light.  His  girl  was  strong  though.  His  girl  had  fought  tooth  and  nail  to  come  home  to  him  and  she  had  done  her  part.  She’d  come  home  to  him.  Now  it  was  his  job  to  make  things  right.</p><p>As  he  rinsed  your  hair  with  the  shower  nozzle  one  last  time,  he  heard  the  front  door  open  and  shut,  then  lock.</p><p>Bucky  was  back.</p><p>Once  James  saw  the  two  of  you  home,  he  took  off  for  Target  and  the  scene  of  the  crime.  </p><p>As  soon  as  he  took  care  of  you,  he’d  see  to  Bucky.</p><p>First  though,  you.</p><p>That  morning  felt  like  so  long  ago.  Even  that  time  he’d  spent  with  you  in  his  office…ages  ago  compared  to  this.  This  was  horrific.  This  was  an  abomination.  This  would  not  be  allowed  to  go  unanswered.  This  was  his  wife  getting  attacked,  brutalized,  ripped  apart  as  if  she  were  nothing  more  than  prey.  That  just  wasn’t  going  to  stand.  The  only  person  allowed  to  put  hands  on  his  wife  was  him  and  even  then,  never  like  this,  this  broke  something  in  him.  </p><p>It  reminded  him  too  much  of  what  his  father  did  to  his  mother.  It  brought  him  back  to  the  old  tiny  apartment  he  grew  up  in  that  was  too  cold,  when  he  would  bring  his  mother  rags  so  she  could  clean  up  her  split  lips,  black  eyes,  scrapes  and  cuts  left  over  from  his  father’s  savagery.</p><p>An  ugly  purple  abrasion  continued  to  darken  from  your  temple  into  your  hair.  It  set  his  teeth  on  edge.  It  made  his  body  rigid  at  the  sight  of  it.  Still  though,  he  was  gentle  with  you.  He   was  careful  when  he  rinsed  your  shampoo  and  conditioner  from  your  hair.  </p><p>Once  your  bath  was  finished  and  Steve  pulled  the  plugger  from  the  drain,  he  helped  you  up  to  your  feet  and  wrapped  you  in  towels.  Patting  you  dry  as  best  as  he  could.  </p><p>“Wait  right  here,”  he  instructed,  leaving  you  in  the  bathroom  to  go  get  some  clothes.</p><p>Leaving  you  alone  for  the  first  time  since  he’d  found  you.</p><p>Leaving  you  to  look  in  the  somewhat  steamed  bathroom  mirror,  where  you  saw  your  reflection.  Who  you  saw  in  the  mirror  didn’t  look  like  you.  Wrapped  up  in  white  towels,  the  bruises  on  your  face  were  starting  to  show  up  more.  Handprints  were  visible  on  your  throat.  Leading  you  to  reach  up,  touch  your  sore  throat  with  fingers  that  no  longer  had  your  long  nails.  </p><p>Seeing  the  marks  on  your  face,  you  thought  about  the  baton  he  had  in  his  hand.  The  bruise  on  your  cheek  was  swollen  a  bit.  Inside  of  your  mouth  had  stitches  that  you  could  barely  feel  with  your  tongue,  from  the  swelling  of  where  your  teeth  had  cut  into  the  wet  flesh  in  your  mouth.  </p><p>Reaching  up,  you  touched  your  temple,  feeling  the  purpling  bruise  from  where  he’d  hit  you  on  the  head.  Your  skull  having  absorbed  that  impact.</p><p>Steve  caught  your  attention  in  the  mirror,  making  your  eyes  focus  on  him.</p><p>“He  had  brown  eyes.”</p><p>Steve  didn’t  move.  </p><p>In  his  hands  were  some  of  his  softest  clothes  he  could  find.</p><p>“He  was  white…”  you  added,  watching  him.  “I  could  see  the  skin  around  his  eyes.”  </p><p>“Do  you  remember  anything  else?”</p><p>You  thought…frowned…tried  to  concentrate  through  the  fuzz,  the  pain,  having  refused  painkillers  out  of  fear  you  wouldn’t  be  able  to  fight  back  if  he  returned  somehow,  someway.  Exhaustion  crowded  around  the  edges  of  you.  Shadowing  you.  Lurking  around  and  threatening  you  with  unconsciousness.  </p><p>“He  wasn’t  very…big.  Not  tall.  Strong  though.  Compact  maybe?  Average.”</p><p>“Did  he  say  anything  to  you?”</p><p>Again,  you  had  to  really  think,  really  try  hard  to  remember.  Did  he  say  anything?</p><p>“No?  I  don’t  think  so…no…”</p><p>You  were  pretty  sure  he  hadn’t  said  anything  to  you,  but  you  honestly  could  not  remember.  Everything  had  happened  so  fast.  Like  bam  bam  bam  bam  and  now,  looking  back,  felt  like  everything  was  so  slow.  You  could  barely  think.  You  wanted  to  lay  down  for  a  few  minutes,  but  knew  you’d  fall  asleep  the  second  you  did  so.</p><p>“Let’s  get  some  warm  clothes  on  you  doll.”</p><p>Steve  half  expected  you  to  drop  at  any  second.  Truthfully,  he  was  wowed  you  were  still  standing.  Soon  enough  you’d  crash.  You  didn’t  have  a  serum  in  your  blood.  You  wouldn’t  be  on  your  feet  for  long.  He  could  see  the  exhaustion  in  your  eyes  and  that  made  him  extra  careful  when  he  tossed  the  towels  on  the  floor,  slipped  one  of  his  soft  flannel  shirts  on  you  that  hung  like  a  sail.  Buttoning  it  up  the  front  one  button  at  a  time,  pausing  at  the  round  darkening  bruise  on  your  sternum.  His  sweatpants  hung  off  you  too,  having  to  get  tightened  considerably  with  the  drawstring  and  rolled  up  at  your  ankles.  </p><p>After  what  felt  like  forever  brushing  your  hair,  because  he  went  so  slow  to  avoid  pulling  too  hard  on  tangles  and  knots,  until  your  hair  was  smooth.  Steve  led  you  out  into  the  living  room,  to  get  you  comfortable  on  the  couch.</p><p>You  never  noticed  James  slip  into  the  bedroom.</p><p>By  then,  you  were  just  too  far  gone.  </p><p>Steve  could  have  sworn  you  fell  asleep  as  he  helped  you  onto  the  couch.  You  may  have  mumbled  something  about  not  wanting  to  be  left  alone,  but  that  was  a  big  maybe.  Not  that  Steve  would  be  going  far.  No.  He  wouldn’t  be  letting  you  out  of  his  line  of  sight  anytime  soon.</p><p>Just  as  he’d  done  for  his  mom  all  those  decades  ago  as  a  child,  he  pulled  blankets  over  your  sleeping  form.  He  adjusted  your  pillows  and  soothed  a  hand  over  your  face,  tenderly  touched  your  hair  and  made  sure  your  feet  were  covered  up,  so  they  didn’t  get  cold.  </p><p>Never  did  he  think  he’d  ever  have  to  do  this  again.  Not  since  his  mother  died  and  just  like  then,  his  stomach  churned.  Helplessness  returned.  </p><p>A  burning,  rolling,  fiery  churning  festered  deep  in  his  chest  for  some  time,  as  Steve  knelt  by  the  couch  to  watch  you  sleep,  hear  you  breathe,  know  that  you  were  for  sure  alive  and  not  taken  away  from  him  like  everything  else.</p><p>James’s  heavy  boots  on  the  floor  eventually  got  his  attention.</p><p>Softly  thunking  into  the  kitchen.  Eventually,  Steve  rose  to  his  own  feet  and  left  you  on  the  couch  to  sleep,  going  into  the  same  kitchen  where  he  could  see  you  and  speak  with  James.  That  same  very  kitchen  where  the  two  of  you  had  fought  the  previous  night.  How  long  ago  that  had  been.  How  grateful  he  was  that  he  hadn’t  let  you  leave  the  house  yesterday  night  now.  How  incredibly  grateful  he  was  to  have  told  you  he  loved  you  now.</p><p>Distracted,  he  had  to  do  a  double  take  when  he  saw  what  was  on  the  table,  in  the  neat  and  tidy  kitchen.</p><p>James,  it  seemed,  had  been  busy.</p><p>Like  some  manner  of  chef,  James  stood  at  the  table  writing  out  notes  in  Russian,  on  a  little  plastic  container  holding  your  broken  nails  that  Steve  had  so  carefully  clipped.  Spread  out  on  the  four-person  table  that  everyone  ate  breakfast  at,  were  numerous  Ziploc  bags  and  Tupperware  containers,  knives  and  a  box  of  latex  gloves.</p><p>One  bag  had  a  purple  knit,  full  faced,  ski  mask.  Another  clear  plastic  bag  had  one  of  your  pumps.  Stuffed  in  two  bags  and  taped  together  was  your  dress.  Having  been  cut  off  at  the  doctor’s  office.  A  event  forever  seared  into  his  memory.</p><p>“Why  are  we  saving  these?”</p><p>Never  glancing  up  from  his  task,  James  wrote  out  dates  and  times  on  the  plastic  container.  Which  along  with  everything  else,  would  go  in  the  fridge  downstairs.  “Because  Steve.  We  can  identify  this  person  by  his  blood.”  </p><p>As  if  to  prove  his  case,  James  then  grabbed  the  bag  holding  the  mask.</p><p>Looking  at  his  friend.  “This  will  tell  us  what  happened  while  she  rests.”</p><p>Realizing  that  Steve  was  unable  to  divorce  himself  entirely  from  the  situation  enough  to  be  neutral,  rightfully  so,  James  also  realized  that  they  may  eventually  need  the  items  spread  out  on  the  table.  Hopefully  not.  But,  one  never  knew.</p><p>“That  mask  has  little  holes  in  it  and  I  couldn’t  figure  out  where  they  came  from…”</p><p>Leading  Steve  to  look  up  from  that  bag.</p><p>Leading  James  to  grab  the  bag  with  the  dirty  shoe  in  it  with  his  metal  hand.</p><p>“Then  I  found  this  in  the  garage.  She  stabbed  him  in  the  face  with  her  shoe.”</p><p>Grabbing  both  bags,  Steve  looked  closer  at  them  with  that  newfound  knowledge.  It  made  him  look  closer  at  the  mask.  Seeing  the  little  odd  shaped  holes  and  blood.  Compared  to  the  shoe,  specifically  the  little  heel,  which  had  a  little  piece  of  flesh  attached  to  the  bottom,  as  if  declaring  what  it’d  done.</p><p>“Whoever  did  this  to  her  is  going  to  have  some  damage  too.  She  had  his  skin  under  her  nails.  Her  knuckles  are  all  bruised  and  scratched  up.  There  was  blood  everywhere.  Once  I  found  that  ice  cream  cake  she  wanted  me  to  go  back  and  get,  I  noticed  his  blood  trail.  It  led  to  an  empty  parking  space.  Your  little  wife  did  a  number  on  him  too.”</p><p>Steve  was  quiet.  </p><p>James  watched  him  put  the  shoe  down  to  look  closer  at  the  mask.</p><p>“I  know  what  you’re  thinking  Steve.  This  isn’t  your  fault.  This  had  nothing  to  do  with  you  asking  her  to   go  to  that  brunch  this  morning.”</p><p>Steve  did  that  thing  he  did  confirming  James’s  hunch.</p><p>Sighing,  pressing  his  lips  together  in  a  taut  line  and  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other.</p><p>“Steve,  this  guy  would  have  been  following  her  for  a  while.  Whether  or  not  it  is  the  guy  who  took  those  other  Hydra  Wives.”</p><p>At  that,  he  looked  up  from  the  bag.</p><p>James  went  on,  having  Steve’s  undivided  attention.  “He  would  have  been  following  her  for  days,  weeks  maybe.  And  your  girl  isn’t  exactly  a  creature  of  habit.  You’ve  seen  her  go  outside  to  check  the  mail.  She’ll  get  distracted  by  five  other  things  and  end  up  in  the  back  yard.  For  god’s  sake  Steve,  her  driver  was  still  there  assuming  she  was  still  in  Target  shopping  and  just  distracted.”</p><p>“And  where  the  hell  was  her  driver  when  all  this  happened?”</p><p>Thinking  about  that  driver  made  James’s lip  curl.  </p><p>“Parked  across  the  street  from  the  Target  so  he  could  get  a  signal  and  text  his  girlfriend.  Don’t  worry  about  him.  He  had  an  accident  and  isn’t  going  to  be  around  anymore.  However…while  I  was  looking  for  him,  I  noticed  cameras  and  when  I  was  done  with  him,  I  went  looking  around  the  garage  for  cameras,  which  led  me  to  the  security  room.”</p><p>Leading  Steve  to  lift  his  eyebrows  in  absolute  interest  at  what  came  next.</p><p>“There  were  two  guards  in  there  cleaning  up.  Said  that  they  saw  someone  breaking  into  a  car  and  by  the  time  they  got  back,  all  the  equipment  was  trashed.  No  video  from  any  of  the  garage  cameras  was  left.  Whoever  it  is,  had  an  incredibly  small  window  which  tells  me  they  were  following  her  and  had  it  planned  out.  It  was  impeccably  planned  out.  She  just  put  up  too  much  of  a  fight  for  whoever  it  was  to  be  able  to  take  her.”</p><p>James  glanced  your  way.</p><p>Steve  mirrored  his  friend.  Although  he  had  to  know.  “What  do  you  think  happened?”</p><p>For  a  few  moments  the  darker  haired  man  was  quiet.</p><p>Not  so  much  thoughtfully  or  hesitantly.  No,  it  wasn’t  that  at  all.</p><p>James  didn’t  need  to  see  the  CCTV  footage  to  know  what  happened.  Looking  at  the  blood  on  the  concrete  and  surrounding  cars  had  been  enough.  Seeing  scuff  marks  and  items  left  behind  painted  the  story.  Doing  what  he’d  done  for  until  Steve  had  rescued  him.  Well,  it  allowed  him  to  connect  certain  dots  and  fill  in  blank  places.</p><p>“It  looks  like  she  stopped  to  call  her  driver.  That  ice  cream  cake  was  still  on  the  hood  of  a  car.  It  looks  like  she  was  attacked  there…probably  came  up  behind  her  with  a  weapon  and  she  turned,  that’s  when  she  got  hit  with  the  baton  in  the  face.  On  the  car  was  a  little  bit  of  blood…”</p><p>Steve  looked  back  to  him.</p><p>“…he  got  her  on  the  ground  somehow.  Her  heels  scratched  up  the  pavement  and  those  handprints  on  her  neck  are  coming  in  dark…he  would’ve  had  a  good  grip  and  it  would  be  likely  that  she  was  on  her  back  by  placement…”</p><p>Steve  swallowed,  a  feeling  of  sickness  sinking  in  his  gut.</p><p>“There  was  a  lot  of  blood.  She  must  have  stabbed  him  and  they  scuffled,  based  on  the  smears.  She  was  only  bleeding  from  her  mouth  when  we  found  her,  and  her  foot.  It  looked  to  me  like  most  the  blood  was  his…if  I  had  to  guess.  And  then  she  got  up.  There  were  blood  smears  from  someone  wearing  pants  on  the  ground,  spread  out  over  a  few  feet.  He  must  have  had  a  hold  of  her  and  that  was  where  she  clawed  at  him.  I  found  one  of  her  nails  there  and  there  were  more  blood  drops  from  him.  She  hit  a  vein  somewhere  in  that  time.  Because  he  dripped  blood  all  the  way  to  a  parking  spot.  That  was  how  I  found  where  he  had  parked.  Since  he  wasn’t  dead  on  the  garage  floor,  I  can  only  assume  she  didn’t  hit  an  artery.  I  couldn’t  find  her  other  shoe  though.  Its  either  somewhere  in  the  garage,  or…he  has  it.”</p><p>You  had  survived  all  of  that  to  get  home  to  him.</p><p>The  bags  went  down  on  the  table.  Almost  carelessly  he  dropped  the  Ziploc  bag  holding  the  mask.  On  the  other  hand,  almost  reverently,  Steve  placed  the  bag  holding  your  shoe  down.</p><p>“What  now  Buck?”</p><p>Surveying  all  the  evidence  on  the  table,  James  tilted  his  head  to  peer  into  the  living  room  at  you  as  you  slept.  It  was  the  first  time  he  was  on  this  particular  end  of  such  violence.  It  was  a  first.  Not  that  he  was  at  any  loss  for  what  to  do  next.  “I  think  the  more  important  question,  Steve,  is  what  are  you  going  to  do  tonight.”</p><p>Without  hesitation,  Steve  answered.  “I’m  staying  here.  I’m  not  leaving  her  side.”</p><p>“Good.  I’m  going  out  hunting  then.  I’ll  be  back  in  time  to  grab  my  bag  for  work.  Can  I  assume  you’ll  be  working  from  home  tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yeah,”  was  Steve’s  response.</p><p>“Don’t  wait  up,”  was  James’s  response.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Later  that  morning  at  the  Convention Center…</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It  wasn’t  that  James  paid  any  particular  interest  to  people  around  the  new  Hydra  Offices.</p><p>He  really  didn’t.</p><p>People  still  avoided  him  like  the  plague.  Whether  he  was  in  his  Captain  Hydra  suit  or  not,  and  at  that  particular  moment,  he  was.  Black  and  crimson,  a  round  octopus  emblazoned  on  his  broad  chest.  Hair  pulled  back.  A  few  people  had  given  him  looks  but  no  one  had  said  anything  yet.</p><p>Perhaps  his  legacy  of  the  being  the Winter  Soldier  followed  him.</p><p>Maybe  it  was  the  members  of  the  tactical  team,  who  kept  dying  by  his  hand  in  training.</p><p>It  could  have  been  both,  or  neither.</p><p>James  made  sure  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  bit  approachable.</p><p>They were  not  his  friends.  These  were  not  his  coworkers.  These  were  not  his  team-mates,  comrades  and  they  especially  were  not  his  family.</p><p>Stepping  into  the  old,  creaky,  smelly  convention  center  elevator  with  heavy  boots  soft  on  the  floor,  he  was  not  at  all  surprised  when  people  moved  out  of  his  way,  gave  him  a  wide  berth,  plenty  of  space.</p><p>These  same  people  wouldn’t  have  lifted  a  finger  in  the  past  to  help  him,  do  anything  to  make  his  life  more  comfortable.</p><p>Rats.</p><p>No  better  than  rats  beneath  his  feet.</p><p>Eyes  averted.  Gazes  downcast.  Silent.  Hearts  pounding  so  loud  he  could  hear  them,  smell  their  fear.</p><p>It  was  so  very  deeply  satisfying.</p><p>Resting  against  the  elevator  wall,  James  saw  that  the  button  for  his  floor  was  pushed,  so  he  made  himself  comfortable.</p><p>With  a  ding,  the  dirty  steel  doors  slid  shut.</p><p>Someone  cleared  their  throat.</p><p>James  glanced  over  at  the  man  almost  close  enough  to  touch.</p><p>An  average  sized  man  who  smelled  like  cologne,  wore  tan  slacks  and  a  navy  blazer,  dark  hair  and  wire  glasses.  Yet,  James  openly  looked.  James  openly  observed  this  man  who  made  a  point  to  look  forward.</p><p>James  knew  this  man.  Recognized  this  man.  Remembered  this  man.</p><p>Scratch  marks  covered  this  man’s  neck,  decorated  his  face.  High  on  his  cheek  was  an  obvious  round  wound  of  some  type.</p><p>“Colonel  Zemo?”</p><p>Visibly  swallowing,  the  man  stiffly  turned  to  face  him.  </p><p>Calm.  Cool.  Collected.  “Good  morning  Captain  Barnes.”</p><p>A bandage  was  on  his  neck,  partially  hidden  by  the  collar  of  his  blazer.  </p><p>James  neither  stood  up  from  where  he  rested  against  the  wall,  nor  did  he  attempt  to  disguise  his  interest  in  the  former  colonel’s  obvious  injury.  “Were  you  attacked?  It  looks  as  if  you  were  stabbed  in  the  face  with  a  woman’s  shoe.”</p><p>Helmut’s  face  remained  impassive.  His  body  still.</p><p>The  elevator  rose  to  the  next  floor  and  dinged.</p><p>“No,  nothing  that  exciting,”  he  sighed,  gloved  hands  folded  in  front  of  him.  Accented  voice  soft  and  lyrical.  “Car  accident.  My  face  hit  the  window.  Glass  went  everywhere.  It  was  most  unfortunate.”</p><p>Those  leather  gloves  did  not  escape  James’s  attention.</p><p>Most  unfortunate  indeed.</p><p>“I  heard  Director  Roger’s  wife  had  a  car  accident  herself,  Captain  Barnes?  And  that  is  why  he  is  working  from  home  today.”</p><p>Which  was  the  official  story.</p><p>James  and  his  sister  Rebecca  had  totaled  her  car  themselves  last  night,  to  help  convincingly  sell  said  official  story.</p><p>The  doors  to  the  elevator  opened.</p><p>A  few  people  got  off.</p><p>“How  is  she?  Director  Roger’s  wife?”</p><p>Rats.</p><p>Far  too  many  rats  around  for  him  to  do  anything,  say  anything.  Slipping  his  fingers  into  his  belt,  James  tilted  his  head  to  the  side.  “Resting  comfortably  at  home.  Director  Rogers  is  with  her.  I’m  sure  he’d  appreciate  if  you  swung  by,  expressed  your  sincerest  wishes  for  a  quick  recovery.”</p><p>Former  Colonel  Zemo  smiled  politely,  watched  James’s  hands,  grateful  for  all  the  warm  bodies  in  the  elevator.  </p><p>“Perhaps  I’ll  send  flowers.  Have  everyone  sign  a  card.  Get  them  delivered  to  the  family  home.  Right  across  the  street  from  your  usual  dinner  companion?  Yes?  Agent  Rumlow’s  Widow?”</p><p>A  ding.</p><p>The  elevator  doors  closed.  </p><p>And  James  knew  for  sure,  then  and  there,  in  that  very  fucking  second,  this  motherfucker  was  the  one.  Here  was  the  one.  This  was  the  soul  responsible  for  the  missing  Hydra  Wives.  This  well-respected  Hydra  officer,  sent  over  from  Europe  to  help  run  things  after  the  bombings,  had  terrorized  Steve’s  wife  hours  earlier.</p><p>Up  quirked  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  </p><p>As  soon  as  he  got  out  of  this  god  forsaken  elevator,  he  was  calling  the  widow  and  then  Steve,  in  that  order.  Fingers  smoothing  over  his  thick  tactical  belt.</p><p>The  elevator  rose.</p><p>“Yeah…she  does…”  </p><p>Colonel  Zemo  did  not  look  away.  Nor  did  James.</p><p>Up  rose  the  elevator  towards  James’s  floor.</p><p>Colonel  Zemo  would  not  look  away,  not  from  this  former  pawn  of  Hydra,  this  former  tool,  a  husk  of  a  person  barely  just  functioning  in  society.  Helmut  would  not  allow  this  dog  to  run  over  him.  He’d  been  sent  here  to  America,  away  from  his  beloved  Sokovia.  Hydra  having  ripped  his  life  apart  so  thoroughly,  it  was  now  unrecognizable.</p><p>It  was  the  very  least  he  could  do  to  return  the  favor.</p><p>Ding  went  the  elevator  and  then  the  doors  opened.</p><p>Standing  upright.  Standing  tall,  taller  than  Zemo  by  several  inches.  Neither  male  unable  to  look  away  from  the  other.  </p><p>Knowing  that  the  former  Sokovian  Colonel  would  be  familiar  with  Russian.  James  put  his  parting  words  in  that  particular  language.</p><p>“…<em>go  ahead  Helmut.  Fuck  around  and  find  out.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whatever  Bucky’s  Korean  doctor  friend  had  given  you,  in  the  form  of  a  handful  of  pills,  and  several  wakeups  from  Steve  over  the  night  and  morning  to  drink  water,  eat  something  and  take  more  pills,  well,  they  were  making  you  dream.</p><p>Not  bad  dreams.</p><p>Not  nightmares.</p><p>Not  about  what  happened  by  some  miracle.  How?  No  clue.  Usually  you  weren’t  that  lucky.</p><p>But,  you  found  yourself  hopping  from  one  dream  to  another  one,  unable  to  really  focus  on  one,  or  the  other,  and  they  were  jumbled  together,  not  a  dream  even.  But  memories,  vivid  memories,  one  and  then  the  other  and  then  the  other...</p><p>
  <em>You  dreamed  of  waking  up  an  hour  before  your  alarm  was  set,  hearing  Aunt  May  sobbing  and  Peter  yelling  for  you…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stumbling  out  of  bed  hastily,  remembering  the  last  time  you’d  woken  up  to  Aunt  May  sobbing  like  that,  was  when  Uncle  Ben  had  died  and  the  cops  showed  up  on  the  doorstep.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sure,  you  had  no  idea  if  there  were  any  relatives  left  in  your  small  family,  who  could  have  died,  but,  it  was  a  sound  that  sent  you  scrambling  from  bed.  It  gave  you  chills.  It  made  goosebumps  break  out  over  your  skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Soul  shattering,  hoarse,  animalistic  bellows.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blankets  and  pillows  flew.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wrapping  paper  and  gifts  from  your  birthday  yesterday  were  littered  on  your  messy  dresser.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The  big  seventeen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nearly  killing  yourself  when  you  tripped  over  a  pair  of  Peter’s  sneakers  in  the  dark  hallway,  you  raced  towards  the  light  and  towards  the  sound  of  May’s  sobbing  in  the  living  room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter  stood  beside  her,  hand  on  her  back.  He  looked  nervously  at  her,  at  the  television  and  then  you.  He  looked  from  the  TV  to  May  to  you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You  were  eighteen.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>And  it  was  the  day  after  your  birthday,  yet  again.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>There  was  just  something  about  your  birthday  that  brought  bad  luck.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’d  gotten  home  from  your  reeducation  classes,  classes  that  you  could  now  attend  down  at  the  local  community  college.  After  having  completed  your  six-month  reeducation  at  the  facility.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Books  in  one  arm,  your  backpack  heavy  with  groceries.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Your  actual  college  classes  were  no  more.  </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Hydra  was  busy  indoctrinating  everyone  they  could  and  those  who  refused,  or  failed,  well,  they  just  vanished  as  if  they  never  existed.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You  made  sure  you  passed  all  your  reeducation  classes.  Just  like  you  made  sure  you  didn’t  have  to  stay  longer  than  you  had  to  in  that  damn  facility  outside  of  the  city.  You’d  been  picked  in  your  family  because  of  your  age.  Peter  was  too  young  and  would  get  his  new  education  at  school.  May  was  the  breadwinner  for  your  home.  If  you’d  been  unable  to  be  reeducated,  they  would  have  sent  Peter  to  a  camp,  one  heaven  knew  where,  so  you  made  sure  that  didn’t  happen.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“Aunt  May…”  you  called  out,  managing  not  to  drop  anything  as  you  shut,  then  locked,  the  door.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>When  you  turned,  there  were  broken  things  everywhere.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Plates.  Bowls.  Cups.  Mugs.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>A  shattered  lamp.  Broken  picture  frames.  </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Smoke  told  you  that  no  one  had  broken  in.  No  one  outside  of  your  small  little  nuclear  family  had  done  this  and  sure  enough,  there  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  floor,  smoking  a  cigarette  was  Aunt  May.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“May?”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Her  head  jerked  up.  She  drew  in  on  the  paper  wrapped  tobacco  product,  holding  it  with  a  shaking  hand.  </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Unable  to  speak,  she  merely  held  up  a  piece  of  creased  paper.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Greatly  concerned,  you  put  everything  down  on  the  floor.  So  you  could  properly  look  at  the  computer  paper  covered  with  typing.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Several  times  you  looked  over  the  summons.  Disbelieving  what  you  saw.  Up  until  you  could  fully  understand  what  it  said.  What  had  happened.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Your  number  had  come  up.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’d  been  selected  for  Hydra’s  new  social  program  to  aid  in  assimilation.  Helping  everyone  adapt  to  their  new  world  order.  All  by  arranging  marriages  to  the  Hydra  Select.  Thoughtful  souls  that  they  were.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Not  sad  or  mad,  or  even  upset.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Those  were  feelings  you  didn’t  feel  anymore.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Numb.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You  felt  numb.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>So  numb.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>On  the  TV  that  morning  was  some  man  you  didn’t  recognize,  dressed  in  a  red  and  black  uniform.  There  was  an  octopus  and  at  first  you  thought  it  was  a  foreign  movie,  or  something  along  those  lines.  Up  until  you  took  another  look  at  your  bawling  aunt,  because  there  was  no  other  way  to  describe  it.  She  was  bawling  like  she’d  lost  someone  dear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You  were  frozen  in  place.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Everyone  is  dead,”  Peter  told  you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You  blinked,  not  understanding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holding  Aunt  May  as  she  rocked,  Peter  nodded  to  the  TV.  “Everyone  is  dead.  The  government  is  gone.  Someone  called  Hydra  is  in  charge  now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At  first…it  didn’t  sink  in,  you  still  didn’t  understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And  then,  after  a  few  minutes  of  listening  to  this  dude  in  a  red  and  black  uniform,  you  realized  that  Aunt  May  hadn’t  been  sobbing  for  any  one  single  person.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aunt  May  had  been  grieving  for  the  way  things  had  been.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>”It’s  because  of  me,”  May  spoke,  smoke  pouring  over  her  lips.  “Because  of  your  Uncle  Ben’s  Defense  Contracting  Agency.”  Big  brown  eyes  flickered  up  at  you  as  you  read  over  the  summons  once  more.  “They  want  to  keep  their  thumb  on  us  and  Peter’s  still  too  young.  They  know  I  won’t  do  anything  remotely  seditious,  if  you’re  arranged  to  one  of  their  uppity-ups.”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You  had  to  get  married.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>It  seemed  so  surreal.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Sure,  so  did  everything  else.  A  total,  mostly  global  world  takeover  was  one  thing,  that  affected  everyone.  But  this…this  directly  affected  you.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Classes  and  six  months  being  reeducated  was  one  thing.  Marrying  the  enemy  was  something  else  entirely.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You  didn’t  know  it,  but  you  were  shaking  your  head.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Aunt  May  sounded  cold,  detached  almost,  probably  as  numb  as  you  felt.  “If  you  don’t  do  it,  they’ll  just  go  after  Peter.  Take  him  away  from  us  and  send  him  off  to  their  academy.  Remember  what  happened  to  Raul  and  Ivette  upstairs?”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Yes,  you  remembered.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’d  heard  the  screams.  You’d  known  they  were  resisting.  Up  until  Hydra  came  one  night  and  drug  their  ten-year-old  son  away.  No  one  knew  where  Paulo  was,  or  if  he’d  ever  come  back.  No  one  knew  if  he  was  alive  or  dead.  The  only  thing  everyone  knew,  was  that  Raul  had  stopped  resisting  and  Ivette  cried  all  the  time  now.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>No.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Peter  wouldn’t  get  drug  away  for  god  only  knew  what.  </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>No.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>You’d  marry  whoever  Hydra  asked  you  to  marry.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Aunt  May  said  something.  But  it  wasn’t  her  voice.  It  was  knocking.  Every  time  her  mouth  opened  and  she  spoke…knocking.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Knocking.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Knocking.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>It  made  your  eyes  open.</p><p>Knocking.</p><p>Knocking.</p><p>Shifting  around  on  the  couch,  you  lifted  your  head  from  the  pillow,  finding  yourself  slightly  out  of  it.  Sore.  Stiff.  A  little  dizzy.  You’d  refused  your  last  two  pain  pills,  unable  to  stand  that  feeling  of  not  being  in  control  of  your  body.  Though  they  hadn’t  totally  worn  off  yet,  you  were  beginning  to  feel  what  had  happened,  feel  the  deep  tenderness  in  your  side.  Feel  your  sore  throat  and  an  ache  on  the  side  of  your  head,  feel  an  increasing  pain  in  your  hands.  And  it  was  all  welcome.  </p><p>You  had  however  taken  the  other  pills  Steve  gave  you.  The  steroids  were  your  favorite.  Your  face  felt  a  little  better  and  the  swelling  had  gone  down.  Down  enough  for  you  to  play  with  the  stitches  on  the  inside  of  your  mouth.</p><p>Steve’s  voice  got  your  attention.  “It’s  ok.  Stay  here  on  the  couch.  I’ll  see  who  that  is.”  A  big  hand  fell  on  your  calf.  Rubbed  your  lower  leg  gently.  Leading  you  to  look  down  at  where  Steve  had  been  the  past  few  times  you  woke  up.  </p><p>On  the  couch,  down  by  your  feet,  working  on  his  encrypted  laptop.</p><p>It  was  not  a  big  couch  by  any  means.</p><p>One  of  those  three-seater  IKEA  looking  ones  that  Steve  easily  filled  up  a  spot  and  you  curled  up  on  your  side,  easily  taking  those  other  two.  Your  feet  shoved  up  under  his  thigh  as  you  slept.  Your  sleeping  was  becoming  more  restless.  Around  ten  that  morning,  you’d  refused  any  more  painkillers  and  while  Steve  fully  supported  your  right  to  choose  and  had  let  you  go  without  one  every  six  hours  since,  he  kept  a  close  eye  on  you  while  he  worked.  At  the  first  sign  of  pain,  you  were  getting  a  pill.  He’d  crush  it  into  a  pudding  cup  if  he  had  to.</p><p>If  there  was  anyone  on  earth  who  knew  what  it  felt  like  to  be  doped  up  on  various  different  medications,  it  was  Steve.  Steve  could  understand  not  wanting  more.  Steve  could  understand  preferring  the  pain  to  that  detached,  dizzy,  sick  feeling.  </p><p>So  far,  you  weren’t  in  pain.</p><p>Based  on  his  math,  observations  and  a  call  to  Doctor  Cho,  you  were  probably  starting  to  feel  some  of  the  effects  wear  off  and  uncomfortable.  As  time  went  on,  you  shifted  around  more,  adjusted  your  position  to  get  more  comfortable  as  you  slept.  And  when  you  did  wake,  he  fed  you  pudding  cups,  made  you  drink  water  and  even  gave  you  a  few  spoonful’s  of  peanut-butter  to  lick.  Mindful  of  the  stitches  in  your  mouth  that  you’d  begun  to  play  with  without  realizing.  A  relieving  sign  to  him  that  the  steroids  were  working  in  bringing  down  your  swelling.  Last  night,  he  couldn’t  see  them  at  all  inside  your  mouth.</p><p>Still  though,  you  sounded  a  little  out  of  it,  clearly  having  been  sleeping,  not  resting,  when  whoever  was  knocking  had  woke  you.</p><p>“…  at  the  door?”</p><p>Little  did  they  know,  they  were  about  to  have  an  exceptionally  bad  day.</p><p>Closing  his  computer  and  sliding  it  onto  the  coffee  table,  Steve  stood,  placing  long  legs  beneath  him  and  pushing  up.  “Go  back  to  sleep.  Everything’s  fine.  I’ll  go  see  who  it  is.”  Which  was  only  half  a  sentence.  Steve  just  didn’t  finish  it.  Fully  intending  to  rip  whoever  was  at  the  front  door  a  new  asshole.</p><p>When  you  pushed  yourself  into  an  upright  seated  position,  wincing,  rubbing  your  side  tenderly  where  your  kidney  had  been  bruised  and  looking  around,  somewhat  disoriented,  Steve  ground  his  teeth.  More  knocking  ripped  through  the  living  room.</p><p>Clearly,  whomever  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  front  door  had  a  death-wish.  </p><p>Sock  covered  feet  crossing  the  room  fairly  quickly  on  those  mile-long  legs,  Steve  was  at  the  door  and  flipping  open  locks  before  he  even  considering  peering  through  the  peephole.  Because  quite  honestly,  he  didn’t  give  a  shit  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  at  that  point.</p><p>If  it  was  the  Sokovian  he’d  spent  all  morning  hearing  about  from  Bucky,  all  the  better,  he  was  really  looking  forward  to  ripping  that  asshole  apart,  limb  from  limb.  And  he’d  specifically  told  Bucky  that  he  was  going  to  be  the  one  doing  the  honors.  Just  in  case  Buck  got  any  crazy  ideas  around  the  Hydra  watercooler.  Colonel  Zemo  was  his.</p><p>No,  it  was  not  Colonel  Zemo.</p><p>Scowling  most  unfriendly  at  the  slim  brunette  on  his  doorstep,  Steve  didn’t  even  try  to  hide  his  annoyance.  “What  do  you  want  Hill?”</p><p>Maria  Hill.</p><p>Or,  Maria  Hill  Santiago  now.</p><p>Having  had  an  arrangement  of  her  own  with  an  older  Hydra  Widower.  One  who  while  was  never  anything  but  doting,  Maria  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  the  man  and  had  he  not  been  a  high-ranking  Hydra  Official,  she  wouldn’t  have  been  able  to  endure  it.  And  she  was  just  barely  hanging  on  as  it  was.</p><p>Surprised  at  the  sight  of  a  very  displeased  Steve  in  the  doorway,  Maria  gaped.  “Ste…I  mean,  Capt…I…Director  Rogers.”</p><p>Not  softening  at  all,  or  even  acting  as  if  he  was  in  any  way  encouraged  to  see  her,  Maria  froze  for  a  second.  Up  until  he’d  become  a  member  of  the  resistance,  she  had  no  idea  where  he  stood  or  whose  side  he  was  on,  if  he  was  faking  this  new  blind  allegiance,  or  if  Hydra  had  broken  him  during  his  brutal  reeducation.</p><p>Maria  didn’t  know  Steve  that  well.  In  passing  on  the  heli-carrier  before  the  Battle  of  New  York  and  then  only  one  other  time,  before  their  arrest  in  DC,  when  everything  went  so  wrong.</p><p>This  Steve  before  her  was  not  the  Steve  from  the  heli-carrier.  </p><p>His  face  was  hard,  stoney,  waiting  for  her  to  speak.</p><p>“I…um,  I  came  by  to  check  up  on  Mrs. Rogers.  I  was  just  at  tea  and  heard  about  her  accident  yesterday.”  </p><p>Maria  then  held  up  a  bouquet  of  flowers.</p><p>Steve  said  nothing.  His  eyes  were  hard,  cold,  unmoved  by  her  explanation.  </p><p>Talk  at  tea  centered  around  the  alleged  car  accident  Mrs. Rogers  had,  that  was  still  making  the  gossip  rounds.  Anyone  who  knew  the  couple  was  convinced  that  Steve  had  finally  killed  you.  With  everyone  else  being  fifty-fifty  on  Steve  either  killing  you,  or  you  being  the  next  victim.  Maria  was  in  the  50/50  Camp.  You  would  have  been  quite  the  prize  for  a  psycho  kidnapping  the  wives  of  ranking  Hydra  Officials.  But…in  the  couple  of  times  she’d  been  around  the  two  of  you  in  an  informal  setting,  doing  things  for  the  resistance,  you  two  had  done  nothing  but  fight  and  argue  and  bicker.</p><p>“Look…Steve,  Director  Rogers,”  Maria  sighed,  hesitating,  attempting  to  peer  around  him  to  see  in  the  house.  “I  didn’t  just  come  by  to  bring  flowers.  I  came  to  see  if  she  was  the  next  victim.”</p><p>Steve  said  nothing,  remaining  in  the  doorway.</p><p>“That’s  why  you  sent  Mrs. Rogers  to  the  brunch  yesterday?  Right?  To  find  out  about  the  missing  wives?”</p><p>Saying  nothing,  he  looked  harder  at  Maria,  who  looked  every  bit  the  perfect  housewife.  A  nice  expensive  sleek  beige  dress.  Pearls.  Pumps.  Flowers  and  a  designer  handbag,  which  Steve  only  knew  because  you’d  pointed  out  how  expensive  that  particular  brand  was.</p><p>Shuffling  noises  got  Steve’s  attention  and  he  turned  away  from  Maria.  Hurried  into  the house  and  since  he  didn’t  shut  the  door,  she  may  have  slipped  in,  seizing  upon  that  opportunity  and  then  stopping  dead  in  her  tracks.  Gasping  and  dropping  the  bouquet  of  flowers  she’d  grabbed  at  the  food  store  on  her  way  over.</p><p>What  Maria  saw  was  worse  than  anything  she’d  thought  up.</p><p>Yesterday  she’d  seen  you  all  dolled  up,  hell  on  heels,  generally  your  usual  naïve  and  ridiculous  self.  The  type  of  person  that  everything  just  sort  of  worked  out  for  in  the  end,  in  some  way.  </p><p>What  Maria  saw  was  not  the  same  woman  she  saw  yesterday.</p><p>Dressed  in  clothing  that  was  far  too  big  and  clearly  having  been  involved  in  some  sort  of  a  battle.  She  gasped  before  she  even  realized  it  came  out.</p><p>Not  a  drop  of  makeup  allowed  her  to  see  a  pristine  black  eye,  purple  handprints  around  your  throat  and  some  swelling  beneath  an  odd  bruise  over  your  cheek.</p><p>“I  told  you  to  stay  on  the  couch.”</p><p>All  that  simmering  hostility  evolving  into  genuine  concern,  something  disgustingly  tender  and  uncomfortably  intimate,  making  Maria’s  stomach  twist.  As  if  she’d  stumbled  in  on  something  bordering  on  affection  that  she  had  no  right  seeing.</p><p>“It’s  ok  Steve.  I  can  walk…”</p><p>Granted  it  sounded  like  you,  if  not  a  little  bit  hoarse.</p><p>No,  Steve  hadn’t  done  this  to  you.</p><p>Quickly,  she  knelt  down  to  scoop  up  the  flowers  while  Steve  ushered  you  back  to  the  couch,  in  what  appeared  to  be  men’s  clothes,  probably  his  if  Maria  had  to  guess.  Too  big  to  be  Peter’s  and  she  couldn’t  see  the  Winter  Soldier  ever  wearing  leisurewear,  or  flannel.</p><p>She  watched  Steve  round  you  back  to  the  couch,  watched  him  help  you  get  seated  and  pull  a  throw  over  your  lap,  touch  your  face  softly  and  whisper  something  to  you  that  made  you  nod  quietly.  After  which  your  eyes  darted  around  his  large  figure  to  look  at  Maria,  curious.  After  which,  Steve  stood  tall,  looming  even  from  where  he  was  by  the  couch  and  took  in  the  former  Agent  Hill.  Definitely  making  her  feel  in  no  uncertain  terms  that  she  was  intruding,  she  was  not  wanted  in  his  home  or  around  his  wife,  she’d  been  wrong  about  several  things.</p><p>“We  were  worried,”  she  quickly  filled  in,  before  Steve  could  throw  her  out.  “We’d  heard  you  had  a  car  accident  and…I  brought  flowers!”</p><p>So  many  things  ran  through  her  head.</p><p>She  had  so  many  things  to  ask.  She  had  to  know  what  happened,  how  did  you  get  away,  what  did  the  attacker  look  like?</p><p>Bless  you  and  your  young  little  heart.  You  sounded  genuinely  upset  when  you  spoke,  resting  a  hand  up  on  Steve,  on  what  would  have  been  his  thigh  without  a  second  of  hesitation.  “Oh  no!  I  missed  the  Hydra  Wives  Tea.”</p><p>Because  someone  so  young  would  be  worried  about  missing  a  pre-scheduled  engagement.</p><p>“Don’t  worry  about  it,”  was  what  Steve  told  you.</p><p>God  were  you  young.</p><p>“You  brought  me  flowers?”  Your  face  softened.  “Steve,  she  brought  me  flowers.  Isn’t  that  so  sweet?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“Can  you  go  get  something  to  put  them  in?  Since  I’m  not  allowed  to  get  up.”</p><p>Exhibiting  the  enthusiasm  of  a  child  getting  sent  to  their  room,  Steve  made  sure  you  were  firmly  on  the  couch,  before  turning  to  leave  and  head  to  the  kitchen.  Sending  Maria  a  look  that  could  have  set  the  house  on  fire.</p><p>When  he  took  the  flowers,  a  colorful  bouquet  with  a  pretty  variety  of  blooms,  he  looked  about  ready  to  eat  glass  if  that  would  have  gotten  Maria  out  of  the  house  quicker.</p><p>It  made  Maria  back  step,  smooth  her  hand  nervously  over  the  fabric  of  her  dress.  Look  around  the  pretty  basic  living  room  in  neutrals  and  beiges,  but  a  lived-in  space.  The  furniture  was  hardly  pristine.  Books  and  study  materials  filled  a  wheeled  library  cart  by  a  big  cushy  chair.  Steve’s  work  stuff  was  all  over  the  coffee  table.  Men’s  boots  were  piled  by  the  front  door  and  the  television  had  so  many  DVD  cases piled  around  it.  There  was  also  a  hole  in  the  TV.</p><p>Maria  looked  away  from  it  and  smiled  broadly  at  you.</p><p>One  of  your  eyebrows  rose.</p><p>Quickly  crossing  the  room  to  take  a  seat  nearish  to  you,  on  the  couch,  she  turned  that  smile  into  a  look  of  concern  and  would  have  reached  out  to  touch  you  or  hold  your  hand.  But  for  one,  she  wasn’t  sure  if  you  were  hurt  anywhere  under  that  blanket  or  Steve’s  clothing,  which  was  so  surreal  to  see  on  you  and  such  casual  clothing  too.  Plus,  Hill  wasn’t  too  sure  how  he’d  react  if  he  came  out  and  you  were  being  touched.  Best  not  to  poke  the  bear.</p><p>“What  happened?  Where  did  it  happen?  When?  Do  you  think  it  was  the  same  person?”</p><p>Maria’s  questions  were  soft  but  fast  and  quick,  as  if  she  had  a  really  important  meeting  to  get  to,  or  she  was  afraid  of  getting  thrown  out.  Both  could  have  been  true  but  you  suspected  you  knew  the  real  reason.  Steve.</p><p>Glancing  down  at  your  hands,  decorated  with  purple  bruises  and  scrapes,  your  nails  no  longer  a  thing  a  beauty,  you  pursed  your  lips  to  the  side.  “I  don’t  know.  It  all  happened  so  fast…I  don’t  really  remember  much.”</p><p>Maria  leaned  closer,  intent. </p><p>“What  do  you  remember?”</p><p>What  did  you  remember?</p><p>You  were  being  honest.  Not  much.  Whether  it  was  from  all  the  pills  or  the  trauma,  or  maybe  you’d  had  a  bit  of  a  concussion,  hell,  it  could  have  been  all  the  adrenaline.  All  you  knew  for  sure  was  that  things  were  a  bit…fuzzy.</p><p>Looking  over  at  your  immaculately  dressed  guest,  you  began  to  toy  with  the  chenille  throw.  “Not  a  lot.  I  remember  going  to  Target.  I  wanted  to  get  an  ice  cream  cake  for  Peter.”</p><p>Maria  was  listening  to  you,  as  if  you  were  telling  her  the  secret  to  wealth  beyond  her  wildest  dreams.</p><p>“It  happened  in  the  garage.  One  second  I  was  looking  for  my  driver  and  then  he  was  attacking  me.  Everything  was  so  fast.”</p><p>Then  you  touched  your  face.  She  watched  you  run  the  tip  of  your  tongue  along  the  inside  of  your  mouth.  A  bulge  under  your  cheek  when  you  did  so.  Your  fingers,  with  chipped  nude  nail-polish,  touched  what  Maria  recognized  as  a  mark  from  a  baton,  on  your  face.</p><p>“He  was  armed?”</p><p>Without  speaking,  you  nodded.</p><p>Sounds  of  cabinets  closing  followed  by  water  running  from  the  sink  drifted  in.  Without  a  doubt,  she  knew  that  Steve  could  hear  her,  leading  Maria  to  speak  kindly,  encouragingly.  “Do  you  remember  what  he  looked  like?”</p><p>What  did  he  look  like?</p><p>Leaning  back  on  the  cushions,  your  back  and  shoulders  were  sore.  Your  side  reminded  you  that  it  wasn’t  feeling  too  fabulous  either.  Digging  at  the  blanket,  you  sighed  and  continued  to  play  with  your  stitches  on  the  inside  of  your  mouth. </p><p>“He  had  a  mask  on.  One  like  bank  robbers  wear…you  know,  with  holes  in  the  eyes?”</p><p>Knowing,  she  nodded  enthusiastically  to  keep  you  talking.</p><p>“And  it  was  purple.”</p><p>“Purple?”</p><p>“Purple,”  you  confirmed.</p><p>A  purple  mask?  At  Target?  Maria  needed  more  information.  Reaching  out.  She  touched  your  knee,  making  you  look  her  way  and  reach  down,  place  your  hand  over  hers.  Her  hand  looked  so  smooth,  perfect,  unblemished  compared  to  your  hands  currently.</p><p>“Did  he  say  anything  to  you?”</p><p>His  voice.</p><p>His  voice  stuck.  It  replayed  in  your  head  over  and  over,  making  your  stomach  twist  each  time  you  remembered,  thought  about  it,  each  time  his  voice  crept  up  on  you,  like  a  bad  dream.</p><p>Not  wanting  to  tell  this  stunning,  strong  woman,  that  the  man  who  attacked  you  called  you  a  bitch,  hurt  your  feelings,  made  you  feel  like  you  had  done  something  wrong  in  fighting  him  back  and  hurting  him.  Which  was  just  ridiculous.  But  you  were  feeling  all  kinds  of  vulnerable  now,  after.  “An  accent…he  had  an  accent.  A  soft  one.  I  don’t  know  where  from  though.  I’m  sorry.”</p><p>Blinking,  Maria  stared.</p><p>You’d  just  apologized.  She  could  not  believe  it.  You  had  literally  just  apologized  to  her,  after  getting  the  shit  beaten  out  of  you,  for  not  being  helpful  enough.</p><p>So  young,  you  were  so  so  young.</p><p>It  rendered  Maria  speechless.</p><p>She  found  herself  wanting  to  hug  you,  comfort  you,  tell  you  that  everything  was  going  to  be  ok.</p><p>And  then  Steve  was  right  there…as  if  appearing  from  thin  air.  She  jumped.</p><p>How  a  man  that  big  could  sneak  up  on  her  was  just  not  natural.  But  the  flowers  were  in  a  clear  vase  on  the  coffee  table  with  the  utmost  care.  “Visiting  hours  are  over.  It’s  time  to  go  Maria.”</p><p>A  protest  was  in  the  process  of  being  formed.</p><p>Maria  couldn’t  leave  yet.  Not  yet.  She  had  so  many  questions.  There  were  so  many  things  she  needed  to  know  about  what  happened.</p><p>Sadly,  a  powerful  hand  wrapped  around  her  upper  arm  and  she  was  pulled  up  to  her  feet  with  shocking  ease  and  quickness,  surprising  even  her,  pulling  her  along  behind  him  ever  closer  to  the  door,  further  away  from  answers.</p><p>Panic,  she  had  to  do  something,  anything.</p><p>“Ok…ok…ok  wait,  Steve!”</p><p>At  use  of  his  name,  Steve  paused.  He  looked  down  at  Maria  as  you  leaned  closer  to  the  flowers  to  touch  and  smell  them,  precariously  close  to  the  edge  of  the  couch  in  his  opinion.</p><p>“Wait!”  And  then…a  stroke  of  brilliance  hit.  “Why  don’t  I  come  over  tomorrow  so  you  can  go  to  work?  We  can  go  to  the  yacht  club  with  the  group,  we’ll  all  be  there  keeping  an  eye  on  things  and  you  won’t  have  to  stay  home  again.  You  can’t  stay  home  forever  with  her  Steve.</p><p>His  eyes  narrowed.</p><p>“Come  on  Steve,  let  me  help  out.  As  much  as  you  may  want  to  stay  here  all  day  till  everything  is  ok  again,  you’re  the  director  and  that’s  not  feasible.”  She  then  looked  to  you  for  support,  but  you  were  either  distracted  by  the  flowers,  or  staying  out  of  it.  Being  so  not  helpful  for  Maria’s  cause,  earning  her  another  pull  towards  the  front  door  that  she  was  unable  to  stop.</p><p>Right  before  Steve  pulled  open  the  door  and  yanked  her  out,  over  the  threshold  with  him,  she  called  out  that  she  would  see  you  tomorrow  morning,  to  no  response.</p><p>Most  soundly  the  front  door  slammed  and  Steve  was  there,  looking  over  her,  terrifyingly  so,  making  her  heart  pound  and  realize  just  how  dangerous  he  actually  was  to  a  normal  person  like  her,  if  he  so  elected.</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>And  he  let  go  of  her  arm  and  snarled,  making  her  flinch  as  if  he’d  struck  her.  His  voice  cutting  right  through  with  every  last  word.</p><p>“No!  That  is  my  wife!  She  is  not  some  Hydra  sycophant  and  you  will  not  use  her  to  get  information  about  the  wife  killer.  Yesterday  she  was  brutalized  enough,  you’re  not  going  to  do  it  again.”</p><p>Unsure  of  whether  to  be  shocked  or  mad,  Maria  went  with  someplace  in  between.  Bristling,  she  stood  tall.  </p><p>“You’re  getting  a  little  attached  Steve.  Once  we  fix  everything  and  everything  goes  back  to  the  way  it  used  to  be,  we  don’t  have  to  live  like  this  anymore.  You  and  I  get  to  have  our  lives  back.  We  don’t  have  to  play  house.  We  can  all  get  divorced  and  just  move  on  with  our  lives.  This  is  just  what  we  have  to  do  for  our  country  right  now.  This  is  what  duty  has  asked  of  us.”</p><p>He  was  silent.  </p><p>Her  eyes,  an  equally  shocking  shade  of  soft  blue,  narrowed  as  it  began  to  dawn  on  her,  “Oh  no  Steve,  come  on.  Don’t  get  attached.  Yes,  she’s  young  and  pretty  and  spunky.  But  this  is  not  the  time  to  get  distracted.  We  can  make  things  right  again.”</p><p>Looking  away,  he  took  a  breath,  looked  up  and  down  the  suburban  street  unsure  just  what  to  say.  Uncaring  about  whatever  nonsense  she  was  spouting  about  not  getting  distracted  by  you  or  even  divorce  when  things  went  back  to  normal,  which  was  an  absolute  and  total  joke.  Long  ago  Steve  came  to  the  realization  that  things  would  never  go  back  to  normal  and  he  just  planned  to  cause  as  much  destruction  as  possible,  till  he  could  eventually  force  Hydra  to  kill  him.  And  then…things  changed,  obviously.</p><p>As  Director  he  now  could  see  how  fruitless  it  was  with  their  meager  Resistance  numbers  and  Hydra’s  reach.  Which  had  been  far  more  infinite  than  even  he  imagined.  And  that  was  even  before  he  found  Bucky  and  was  able  to  learn  more  from  his  friend.</p><p>There  was  no  going  back.  And  it  wasn’t  that  he  was  being  negative,  he  was  being  realistic.</p><p>Hope  was  dead.  Optimism  was  gone.</p><p>All  he  and  Bucky  could  do,  had  in  the  works  and  constantly  planned,  was  to  lay  the  groundwork  for  the  future.  Plant  seeds  and  grow  from  within  as  Hydra  had  done.  They  were  already  working  hard  at  replacing  key  figures  within  Hydra  with  subversives.  Nearly  half  of  the  tactical  team  was  now  made  up  of  Resistance  Members  and  subversives  with  every  training  accident,  or  disappearance  Bucky  could  make  happen.</p><p>To  even  think  that  they  would  be  able  to  rid  the  world  of  Hydra?</p><p>Steve  couldn’t  look  at  her.  Steve  couldn’t  stand  the  hope  in  her  eyes,  her  naivete  or  that  fire  that  still  burnt.</p><p>He  was  just  trying  to  make  the  best  out  of  this  nightmare.  Somehow  he’d  managed  to  find  someone  that  made  him  feel  something,  made  him  not  want  to  die  all  the  time,  made  him  think  that  living  was  not  so  unbearable.  You  made  him  want  to  wake  up  every  day.  You  made  him  eager  to  get  home.  You  were  his  home  and  he  wasn’t  about  to  hand  you  over  to  Maria  and  a  gaggle  of  wives,  who  watched  too  many  crime  shows.</p><p>Thinking  something  else  entirely,  Maria  softened  her  approach.  Maybe  Steve  was  confused?  Obviously  he  was  upset.  The  sight  of  you  was  upsetting.  It  was  a  lot  and  he  was  now  Director  of  Hydra  for  North  America.  He  had  a  lot  of  his  plate.  “Look,  Steve,  I’ll  be  careful.  I’ll  stay  with  the  group  and  when  I’m  home  with  her,  I’ll  have  my  gun.  No  funny  business.  But  we  have  to  be  smart.  You  can’t  stay  home  with  her  until  she  recovers.  You  know  that.  You  know  you  can  trust  me  and  yes,  I  may  ask  about  what  happened  to  try  and  get  more  information  out  of  her,  but  I  won’t  go  too  far.  If  she  gets  upset,  I’ll  stop.  She’s  far  too  useful  for  the  Resistance  for  me  to  risk  traumatizing  her,  or  upsetting  Peter.  I’ll  even  bring  her  to  work  when  we’re  done  at  the  yacht  club  for  a  visit.” </p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Steve  was  irritated  when  he  came  back  in  after  his  talk  with  Maria.</p><p>You  weren’t  stupid.  You  knew  what  was  up.</p><p>Nor  were  you  at  all  surprised  when  Steve  brought  up  a  babysitter  adventure  tomorrow  from  beside  you  on  the  couch,  computer  back  on  his  lap  as  he  worked,  a  pudding  cup  in  your  hand  as  you  snacked.  Lounged  out  on  the  couch,  propped  up  by  pillows  with  your  feet  flat  on  his  thigh,  kneading  his  muscles  like  a  cat.  </p><p>Carefully  as  you  could  manage,  you  ate  with  the  spoon,  glad  for  something  in  your  tummy  and  to  take  away  the  dry  ick-factor  from  your  mouth.</p><p>As  Steve  worked,  you  two  spoke  about  Maria  and  the  Hydra  Wives  Club  Boating  Trip  and  what  you  could  do  for  dinner  with  those  damn  mouth  stitches.  You  flipped  through  a  copy  of  Vogue  as  Steve  worked,  typing  away  one  handed  with  his  other  hand  touching  your  leg.</p><p>Softly  running  fingertips  up  your  calf,  rubbing  your  feet  and  knee,  working  his  way  up  as  he  worked  and  talked  about  his  plans  with  Bucky  for  that  night.  To  go  follow  up  on  a  few  leads,  how  you’d  stay  home  with  Peter,  hardly  noticing  the  path  his  hand  took,  meandering  in  no  real  hurry,  with  no  real  purpose.  He  was  distracted.  </p><p>Since  it  felt  nice,  you  said  nothing.  Merely  parting  your  legs  for  his  gentle  caresses  as  he  worked  and  talked  normally.  </p><p>From  over  your  magazine  you  watched  him,  knowing  that  he  wasn’t  telling  you  everything  about  whatever  sort  of  mayhem  he  and  Bucky  had  in  store  for  that  evening.  Not  that  you  cared.  It  wasn’t  exactly  rocket  science  trying  to  deduce  what  the  two  of  them  would  be  out  doing,  rooting  around  for  or  generally  causing  trouble  because  of.</p><p>“…also  Peter’s  picking  up  a  new  television.  So  he’ll  put  that  together  when  he  gets  home  and  you  can  catch  up  on  your  trashy  TV  and  Dateline…”</p><p>Strong  fingers  rubbed  the  inside  of  your  thigh  just  right.  Smoothing  out  your  tight  muscles  from  yesterday.  Soothing  your  limb  and  almost  absently  travelling  up  higher,  higher  up  your  inner  thigh,  in  exploration  and  restorative  touches  for  you  both.</p><p>You  were  warm  and  safe.</p><p>You  were  as  comfortable  as  you  were  going  to  get.  You  were  a  little  thirsty  but  that  was  a  problem  for  a  later  time.</p><p>“…I  know  that  show  you  like  is  on  tonight.  The  one  with  the  space  people  and  little  frog  eating  green  creature  baby…”</p><p>Higher  and  higher,  as  you’d  allowed  your  hips  to  fall  open.</p><p>And  then…Steve’s  hand  pulled  back  like  he’d  touched  a  hot  stove.</p><p>Immediately  he  apologized.</p><p>Immediately,  you  made  a  face  from  where  you  were  lounged  back.  Vogue  resting  open  on  your  chest.  “Don’t  apologize  Steve.”</p><p>And  then,  horror  of  horrors,  he  began  to  inch  away  from  you,  as  if  that  in  some  way  would  make  everything  better.</p><p>“No,  I  didn’t  mean  that,  I  know  you’re  in  no  shape  for  that  sort  of  activity.  I  don’t  want  you  to  even  think  I  am  thinking  about  that,  or  expect  anything  from  you.  You  have  to  recover.  You  were  attacked  and  it  will  take  time  for  you  to  heal.”</p><p>Your  expression  didn’t  soften  in  its  incredulity.</p><p>“You  didn’t  do  this  to  me  Steve.  And  yeah…it’s  gonna  be  a  while  before  we  can  go  to  town  like  we  did  the  other  day.  But  you  can  still  touch  me.”</p><p>His  hesitation  just  killed  you.</p><p>“I  want  you  to  touch  me.”</p><p>Not  exactly  what  you  wanted,  but  you’d  take  what  you  could  get  when  you  felt  his  palm  back  on  your  knee.  Making  you  scooch  down  a  bit.  Making  you  shift  and  adjust  to  get  more  comfortable.  Because  your  side  hurt  and  your  head  wasn’t  feeling  great  either,  forget  you  neck…you  could  write  a  treatise  on  how  your  neck  felt.</p><p>“All  I  feel  is  him.  He’s  all  I  feel  when  I  move  and  breathe  and  talk.  Every  time  I  move,  it’s  like  he’s  touching  me  again.  When  I  have  to  look  at  myself,  I’ll  just  see  him.”</p><p>And…your  husband  stared  at  you.  Considered  for  a  moment  what  you  said,  your  words.  His  feelings  mirroring  yours  in  a  way,  one  he  hadn’t  processed  beyond  his  unadulterated  fury  at  what  had  happened  yesterday.</p><p>Slowly,  he  closed  the  laptop  on  his  lap  and  set  it  on  the  coffee  table.</p><p>Slowly,  carefully,  he  turned  to  face  you,  one  long  leg  folded  up  under  the  other  that  remained  on  the  floor.</p><p>“Do  you  want  me  to  touch  you?”</p><p>Having  your  words  to  frame  his  thoughts  helped.  Looking  at  you,  seeing  the  evidence  of  another  man  touching  you,  being  violent  towards  you.  </p><p>Yes,  he  very  much  wanted  to  take  that  away  so  all  you  felt  was  him.</p><p>Shifting  around  again,  your  voice  was  breathy  but  not  from  your  pain.  </p><p>“Yes.  Please.”</p><p>Leading  Steve  to  pull  on  the  soft  grey  fabric  over  your  lower  half,  pulling  and  pulling  and  pulling  till  exposed  skin  grew  and  grew  and  grew.  Till  he  pulled  off  the  sweats.  Your  calves  visible.  Your  thighs  visible.  Only  a  couple  bruises,  a  few  scrapes,  blue  fingerprints  seared  into  your  thigh.  </p><p>Up  higher,  between  your  thighs  rested  a  soft  dusting  of  hair.</p><p>Taking  his  time  to  rub  out  tight  spots  on  your  legs,  press  his  lips  to  the  bruises  and  abrasions,  since  he  couldn’t  kiss  your  mouth  yet.  Beneath  him  he  could  feel  you  melt,  feel  you  soften,  hear  the  little  noises  come  from  you.</p><p>“Can  you  unbutton  your  shirt  for  me?”</p><p>You  could,  slowly  you  did.  One  button  at  a  time.  Till  you  felt  your  bare  skin  beneath  exposed  and  your  heartbeat  kick  up.  You  felt  yourself  grow  feverish  with  every  inch  of  skin  his  hands  touched.  Feeling  yourself  so  exposed  without  pants  on.</p><p>“More.”</p><p>Further  leading  you  to  push  open  the  butter  soft  flannel  where  your  breasts  were  hidden,  covered,  soft  tissue  topped  with  your  gold  piercings.  Fully  exposing  you,  on  the  couch,  in  the  living  room.  </p><p>Deep  within  your  ribcage  your  heart  pounded  wildly.  Pounded  harder  when  Steve  rose  onto  his  knees  and  leaned  forward,  putting  a  hand  up  above  your  head  somewhere.  Allowing  him  freedom  to  run  fingertips  over  your  twin  mounds,  resting  on  either  side  of  a  big  ugly  bruise  over  your  sternum.  </p><p>One  then  the  other,  he  stroked  either  swell,  palming  each  with  exquisite  care  and  attention.  Rubbing  each  soft  nipple,  one  than  the  other,  till  the  sensitive  pliable  tissue  grew  taut,  a  hard  little  peak  speared  with  gold.  Even  more  arousing  with  every  tug  or  push,  or  pull  on  each  piercing.</p><p>“I’m  going  to  come  on  you  right  there,”  he  told  you,  taking  great  pleasure  in  the  sight  of  your  drooping  eyes  and  soft  little  whimpers,  from  what  he  did  to  your  breasts.  “When  I’m  done  touching  you,  I’m  going  to  rub  my  cum  on  you.  Do  you  want  that?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Merely  the  thought,  paired  with  the  sight  of  your  breasts,  had  made  him  hard  in  his  khakis.</p><p>“You  remember  what  I  told  you  about  my  cum?”</p><p>God  did  you  ever.</p><p>Picturing  his  creamy  spend  rubbed  on  you,  smeared  over  the  parts  of  you  that  hurt.  In  some  weird  and  twisted,  odd  way…it  made  you  feel  better.  Not  better  physically  or  like  it  fixed  everything.  Heavens  no.  It  felt  in  a  way,  as  if  you  were  taking  something  back  that  had  been  taken  from  you,  something  that  someone  else  had  tried  to  destroy  that  you’d  only  managed  to  prevent.  What  came  out  of  Steve  was  just  for  you.  What  came  out  of  Steve  marked  you  as  his  and  you  really  really  really  needed  that.  Being  strong  modern  woman  be  damned,  you  so  badly  wanted  to  hand  over  the  reins  for  a  while  and  let  someone  else  take  charge  because  you  hurt  and  needed  to  recover.  You  couldn’t  be  strong  all  the  time.  It  was  exhausting.  “Please  Steve,  I  remember.”</p><p>Something  pressed  against  your  core,  making  you  open  your  eyes.</p><p>Fingers,  definitely  fingers  because  you  were  watching  Steve’s  tongue  deftly  lap  at  one  of  your  nipples.  Twisting  and  toying  with  the  piercings  he  was  so  fond  of,  as  two  fingers  slipped  into  your  folds,  wet  by  now,  slipping  around,  pushing  your  slippery  arousal  up  to  your  clit.</p><p>Tremors  of  pleasure  began  to  spread  through  you  and  at  first,  they  were  almost  painful,  your  back  actually  ached  when  you  arched  up.  A  hiss  came  from  you  that  turned  into  something  deeper  the  more  he  played  with  you,  so  familiar  with  your  body,  it  really  wasn’t  hard  at  all.</p><p>Thumb  rolling  over  your  clit,  stroking  it,  smearing  your  own  wet  warmth  over  the  round  trove  of  nerves.  Two  fingers  sank  into  you  and  then  were  gone,  slipped  out  and  his  thumb  was  no  longer  touching  you,  making  you  watch  him  pull  it  right  up  to  his  lips.  </p><p>Killing  you,  almost  killing  you,  you  watched  him  sink  those  two  digits  that  had  just  been  up  inside  of  you,  into  his  mouth. </p><p>Breathing  deeply,  chest  rising  and  falling  heavier  than  you  could  remember,  you  watched,  your  legs  wide,  nipples  wet  and  aching,  so  exposed  and  vulnerable  beneath  him  and  so  safe,  so  very  safe.</p><p>If  it  were  possible,  his  hand  left  his  mouth  wetter  than  when  it  was  just  covered  with  your  own  secretions.  Now  copiously  wet  from  his  saliva,  you  felt  it.  Eyes  on  his,  you  could  feel  the  wetness  on  your  clit  when  he  stroked  you,  you  felt  it  when  he  slid  his  two  fingers  back  up  inside  of  you,  filling  you.  Not  quite  as  perfectly  as  his  cock.  But  it  would  do  for  now.</p><p>“How’s  that  feel?  You  ok  with  me?  You’ll  let  me  know  if  it’s  too  much,  or  if  you  hurt?”</p><p>“Yes,”  you  whispered  even  though  you  could  barely  think  straight  when  his  thumb  was  stroking  your  clit.  Curling  you  up,  tighter  and  tighter,  up  and  up,  pushing  and  shoving.  Two  fingers  became  three,  filling  you,  rubbing  and  curling  and  stimulating.  He  made  you  gasp  out  from  holding  your  breath.  He  made  you  clamp  your  eyes  shut.  Sucking  your  nipple  into  his  mouth  and  rolling  that  gold  bar  around  with  his  tongue,  paired  with  everything  else  really  did  it  though,  really  pushed  you  over  that  edge  that  you  for  a  second  felt  stuck  on,  not  quite  able  to  let  go  and  fall  over.</p><p>Speared  to  a  wall,  locked  in  a  box,  trapped.</p><p>Your  breath  wouldn’t  come  and  for  a  second  you  panicked.  </p><p>Space…just  blankness  and  a  void  filled  your  head  instead  of  what  should  have  when  you  climaxed.</p><p>Letting  your  nipple  fall  from  his  mouth  with  a  pop,  Steve  licked  a  stripe  up  your  throat.  “Come  back.  You’re  safe.  You’re  here  with  me.  Doll,  let  it  happen  for  me,  give  it  to  me.”</p><p>Something  that  sounded  fractured  came  from  you  and  then  you  came,  you  came  and  it  hurt.  It  wracked  your  body.  It  sent  you  into  a  spasm.  It  was  agony  and  rapture  as  your  body  was  seized  by  a  contraction  of  everything  good  and  wonderful  and  amazing,  washing  his  hand  with  you.</p><p>“…’at’s  it,  feel  it.  Feel  how  good  that  is.  Relax  and  let  it  take  you.  You’re  squeezing  my  fingers  so  hard.”</p><p>And  you  were,  god  help  him  you  were.  Your  perfect  little  pussy  was  squeezing  him  tighter  than  ever,  in  a  release  that  probably  was  more  significant  than  he  could  wrap  his  head  around.  Would  you  have  ever  felt  so  wonderful  wrapped  around  his  dick,  squeezing  him  like  that,  so  tightly,  so  desperately.</p><p>But  no,  fucking  Zemo  had  done  this  to  you.</p><p>Fucking  Zemo  made  your  body  hesitate  to  climax,  fucking  Zemo  put  all  these  marks  and  bruises  on  his  girl,  fucking  Zemo  made  him  afraid  to  touch  you.  Colonel  Fucking  Zemo  was  fucking  with  a  part  of  his  life  that  he  had  no  business  fucking  around  with.  Had  Zemo  just  tried  to  kill  Steve,  that  wouldn’t  have  bothered  him.  Had  Zemo  come  after  him  or  Bucky,  Steve  could  have  handled  that  hands  down.  But  this…this  was  just  too  fucking  much.</p><p>Watching  you  come  down,  as  your  walls  clenched  fiercely  around  his  fingers,  was  healing.</p><p>Watching  your  mouth  O  and  eyes  flutter,  your  chest  rise  and  fall,  your  breasts  wet  from  his  mouth  moving,  was  practically  therapeutic.  </p><p>With  your  cum,  Steve  lathered  up  his  erection,  his  tan  slacks  hastily  unbuttoned  and  unzipped,  shoved  down  to  free  himself.  Hearing  the  wetness  as  he  spread  your  body’s  release  over  his  length  made  his  sac  tighten  from  within  all  that  fabric.</p><p>Steady  movements  over  his  aching  length  did  little  to  soothe,  only  ramp  up  what  he  saw,  what  he’d  been  feeling.  You,  his  beautiful  wife  on  your  back,  spread  out  before  him  with  your  most  intimate  places  exposed,  your  golden  topped  breasts  bare  and  your  slippery  warm  pussy  invitingly  open.  All  those  marks  on  your  body  reminding  him  that  he  couldn’t  touch  you,  pleasure  you,  fuck  you,  fill  you  up  repeatedly  till  he  could  watch  his  spend  drain  from  between  your  lush  thighs.</p><p>His  grip  was  so  tight  it  bordered  on  pain,  pumping  himself  towards  release,  pre-cum  beading  at  the  tip,  falling  from  his  slit  and  onto  your  thigh.</p><p>Heat  clouded  his  head.  Anger,  rage  and  fury  simmered  from  down  deep.</p><p>Another  man  had  put  their  goddamn  hands  on  you.  Another  man  had  left  his  damn  finger  prints  on  your  thigh.  Another  fucking  man  had  tried  to  take  what  was  his  and  nearly  succeeded.  </p><p>He  could  have  lost  you.  He  could  have  been  alone  while  you  were  further  brutalized  and  savagely  murdered,  ripped  apart,  left  in  pieces.</p><p>“Its  ok  Steve.  I’m  right  here  with  you.  Relax  and  let  go,  let  it  come,  cover  me  with  it.  Show  me  who  I  belong  to.”</p><p>He  came  with  a  shout.  </p><p>Almost  angrily  pumping  his  slippery  shaft  with  harsh,  rough  motions.  Sending  his  cum  out  in  ribbons,  across  your  abdomen  and  stomach.  Pearly,  thick  and  warm  on  your  bare  skin.</p><p>Before  he  even  finished,  his  hand  fell  from  his  shaft  and  onto  your  abdomen,  sliding  his  spend  all  around,  over  your  side  where  you  were  bruised  and  then  up,  between  your  breasts.</p><p>“Are  you  still  hard?”</p><p>Head  fuzzy,  set  on  just  rubbing  it  all  over  you,  marking  you,  covering  you  with  him  and  no  one  else,  all  Steve  could  do  was  nod  in  affirmation.  He  was  hard.  He  would  be  hard  for  a  good  while  longer.</p><p>“Put  it  in  me.”</p><p>His  head  jerked  up.</p><p>Seeing  his  protest,  you  assured  him,  reaching  up  to  touch  his  face,  as  his  hands  frantically  rubbed  the  thick  cloudy  bodily  fluids  over  your  breasts.  Knowing  that  he  needed  this,  as  much  as  you  needed  to  feel  his  spend  on  you,  to  complete  some  crazy-ass  circuit  that  the  two  of  you  created  in  the  mess  that  was  your  relationship.</p><p>“We’re  not  going  to  have  sex  Steve.  We  can’t  and  we  both  know  it.  But  you  can  still  put  it  in  me.”  </p><p><em>You  need  it</em>,  was  the  last  part  you  left  out.</p><p>Because  you  understood  now,  now  it  was  very  clear  to  you,  it  wasn’t  just  you  who  had  been  attacked.  It  wasn’t  just  you  who  felt  it  down  to  your  very  bones  and  as  you  watched  your  husband  line  himself  up  with  the  utmost  care,  erect  cock  in  hand,  smeared  with  cum,  you  knew  what  he  needed.  You  knew  what  he  needed  to  calm  himself,  collect  himself,  stop  trembling  and  center  himself.</p><p>Wet  yourself,  your  walls  parted  for  his  bulbous  head,  his  member  slid  in,  deeper,  deeper  and  deeper,  till  his  pants  brushed  up  between  your  thighs  and  he  was  holding  himself  up  above  you,  panting,  massive  chest  lifting  with  deep  steadying  breaths.  A  noise  came  from  him  and  you  scooted  over  as  much  as  possible,  allowing  him  a  sliver  of  space,  allowing  him  to  side  up  to  you.</p><p>This  was  for  him.  A  tortured  expression  on  his  face  confirming  you  were  right.</p><p>“Take  your  shirt  off.”</p><p>No  hesitation.</p><p>A  few  motions,  a  few  movements  and  his  polo  was  down  on  the  floor. </p><p>It  wasn’t  long  before  a  long  muscular  arm  wrapped  around  the  small  of  your  back.  Contact.  Skin  on  skin  contact,  regardless  of  what  was  on  your  skin,  was  what  your  husband  needed  to  calm  himself.  Feeling  him  inside  of  you  without  sex  was  a  bit  irregular,  but  it  wasn’t  about  sex.  It  wasn’t  about  that.  It  was  about  comfort  and  connection  and  giving  Steve  what  he  needed  after  he’d  taken  care  of  you.</p><p>A  part  of  you  seemed  to  know  that  if  the  two  of  you,  four  of  you  really,  were  going  to  get  through  this  intact,  you  and  Steve  had  to  be  ok.  He  needed  to  be  ok  before  you  sent  him  out  later  that  night  with  Bucky.</p><p>Feeling  him  so  damn  hard  inside  of  you,  trembling,  so  mad  and  hurt,  you  had  a  super  soldier  to  tend  to.</p><p>“Can  I  touch  you  again?  Make  you  come  around  me?  No  sex…I  won’t  move…I  just  want  to  feel  you.”</p><p>In  response,  you  reached  up  to  run  your  fingers  through  his  hair,  pushing  it  off  his  forehead.  So  full  of  him.  Stretched  out,  packed,  overwhelmed  by  Steve  as  only  he  could  make  you.  Palming  his  cheek,  brushing  your  thumb  over  that  plump  bottom  lip.  A  bottom  lip  that  you  couldn’t  even  kiss  with  your  stitches.  You’d  give  him  whatever  he  needed  from  you.  “Yes,  of  course,  as  many  times  as  you  need.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Believe  it  or  not,  Peter  actually  enjoyed  living  at  the  house  with  you  and  Steve  and  even  Bucky.  </p><p>Ok,  so  sure,  he  wasn’t  so  fond  of  being  referred  to  as  <em>the  boy</em>  half  the  time,  by  the  two  of  them.  But  there  was  something  almost  brotherly  about  it.  Plus  they  treated  him  like  a  man.  Never  once  sending  him  home,  or  asking  him  to  not  do  something.  The  two  of  them  may  have  been  flustered  with,  or  balked  at  Phil,  for  letting  him  get  involved  with  the  resistance,  but  they’d  never  told  him  no,  or  refused  to  let  him  do  missions.  They  trusted  him  to  look  after  you,  when  they  were  out  doing  god  only  knew  what  at  night.  It  was  nice  having  brothers.  It  felt  good  to  have  found  more  family.</p><p>Peter  never  had  a  brother.</p><p>He  had  a  sister,  you,  but  that  was  different.  That  was  very  different.</p><p>Seeing  you  curled  up  on  the  couch,  bruised  and  battered,  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  after  a  car  ride  that  seemed  to  take  forever  home  from  the  train  station  the  other  night,  had  been  horrific.  Bucky  had  tried  to  warn  him.  Bucky  tried  to  prepare  him,  brace  him.</p><p>You’d  looked  after  Peter  countless  nights.  Patched  him  up  and  cleaned  him  off,  fed  him  and  coddled  him  when  he’d  been  in  just  as  horrible  shape,  or  worse.</p><p>This  was  different  though.</p><p>You  weren’t  enhanced  like  him.  You  wouldn’t  bounce  back  within  twelve  hours.</p><p>And  that  was  why  Peter  swung  by  the  house  for  lunch.</p><p>Steve  told  him  that  Maria  Hill  was  coming  to  sit  with  you  and  maybe  take  you  out  to  the  yacht  club,  for  some  type  of  Hydra  Wives  Boating  Event.  Which  Peter  found  ridiculous.  You  had  never  been  on  a  boat,  you  got  horribly  sick  when  you  went  canoeing  in  central  park  once.  Therefore,  Peter  had  no  idea  what  the  hell  you  were  going  to  do  on  a  freaking  yacht.</p><p>The  house  was  empty.</p><p>Peter  even  checked  the  bedroom  and  bathroom  to  make  sure  you  hadn’t  passed  out  somewhere.</p><p>Nope.  </p><p>You  for  sure  were  not  home,  so  Peter  headed  towards  the  kitchen.</p><p>Wearing  his  khaki  slacks  and  burgundy  polo  shirt  with  the  octopus  embroidered  on  his  breast,  Peter  went  to  the  cabinet  and  pulled  out  a  plate  and  loaf  of  bread  from  the  next  cupboard.</p><p>Three  sandwiches  sounded  like  it  would  hit  the  spot.  Some  chips,  a  few  pickles,  some  cookies  and  a  few  pieces  of  fruit.  That  would  hold  him  over  for  a  few  hours.</p><p>Hopefully  Bucky  hadn’t  eaten  all  the  lunchmeat.</p><p>Fingers  crossed.</p><p>Peter  held  his  breath,  took  a  few  steps  towards  the  fridge  and…</p><p>…a  chill  started  at  the  base  of  his  spine,  hairs  on  his  arms  rose,  goosebumps  came  as  the  chill  reached  his  neck.</p><p>A  thud.</p><p>Something  thudded  out  on  the  front  stoop.</p><p>A  box.</p><p>Peter  could  practically  see  it  based  on  the  sound,  how  the  stoop  crunched  and  the  running  of  footsteps.  It  was  a  solid  noise.  Not  harsh.  Organic,  not  metal.</p><p>His  gut  clenched.  His  mouth  went  dry.  His  body  tensed  and  before  he  knew  it,  his  was  rocking  forward  and  clenching  his  fists.  Moving  before  he  registered  that  he  was  indeed  moving,  walking,  crossing  the  kitchen,  entering  the  living  room  and  opening  the  front  door,  before  he  second  guessed  it,  almost  wishing  that  someone  was  still  there.</p><p>Unafraid,  he  looked  around  the  yard  and  sidewalks,  narrowing  his  eyes  for  any  movement,  anything  that  was  out  of  the  norm,  a  sign  of  whom  had  dropped  off  this  box  that…that  Peter  caught  a  whiff  of  and  yep,  something  organic  was  indeed  inside  of  it.</p><p>Looking  down,  Peter  observed  the  box  and  could  feel  a  buildup  of  anger  course  through  him.</p><p>His  teeth  clenched.  His  fists  clenched.  Angrily  he  breathed  harshly  out  through  his  nose.</p><p>Something  was  dead  in  the  cardboard  box.</p><p>He  could  smell  it.</p><p>Human.</p><p>His  senses  could  pick  up  on  that  as  if  it  were  food  right  in  front  of  him.</p><p>That  feeling  never  went  away.</p><p>Someone  was  still  watching  him.</p><p>Which  led  him  to  lock  and  shut  the  front  door.  Pick  up  the  box  carefully  and  then  walk  around  the  front  yard,  up  the  driveway  and  into  the  side  door  of  the  attached  garage.  Since  there  was  absolutely  no  way  he’d  bring  said  box  in  the  house.</p><p>Your  car  was  parked  but  Steve’s  truck  was  gone.</p><p>Kicking  the  door  shut  with  his  foot,  Peter  carried  the  box  over  to  the  center  of  Steve’s  spot  and  set  it  down  on  a  black  trash  bag  that  he’d  grabbed  from  a  shelf.  In  the  event  that  the  box  began  to  leak.</p><p>Only  then,  after  that,  did  Peter  dig  his  phone  from  his  back  pocket,  knowing  exactly  who  to  call.</p><p>Looking  at  the  box  warily,  he  took  a  few  steps  back  till  he  hopped  up  on  the  roof  of  your  car.  Having  absolutely  no  desire  to  see  what  was  in  said  box.  Nope.  Smelling  it  and  knowing  was  more  than  enough.</p><p>A  few  finger  taps,  a  swipe  and  he  pressed  the  phone  to  his  ear,  grateful  that  those  eyes  weren’t  on  him  anymore.</p><p>What  a  week  it  had  been  already  and  it  didn’t  seem  to  be   anywhere  near  over.</p><p>Twice  it  rang.  </p><p>Steve  answered  as  Peter  looked  around  the  empty  garage.  </p><p>“What’s  up  Peter?”</p><p>Peter  usually  didn’t  call  Steve  during  the  day  and  obviously  this  was  an  emergency.</p><p>“Uh…hey,  um,  I  got  home  and  there  was  a  big  water  leak.  Lots  of  water.  I’m  in  the  garage  now  but  can’t  figure  out  where  the  water  valve  is.”</p><p>A  pause.</p><p>What  sounded  like  a  grunt  came  from  across  the  city.</p><p>All  the  way  over  at  the  convention  center,  in  Steve’s  little  windowless  office,  Director  Rogers  paused  to  take  in  what  Peter  told  him.  A  coded  message  everyone  under  their  roof  had  practiced.  And  while  he  never  expected  to  use  it,  Steve  was  glad  they  had  practiced,  because  he  was  a  little  bit  distracted.</p><p>One  hand  held  his  cell  phone  to  his  ear.  </p><p>His  other  hand  was  wrapped  around  the  throat  of  his  Media  Relations  Representative,  whom  he  had  just  found  digging  through  his  desk  and  day  planner.  Which  was  a  damn  shame.  This  guy  was  pretty  good  at  his  job.  He  dealt  with  the  press  and  media  so  Steve  never  had  to  worry  about  anything.  When  he  was  on  the  news,  he  always  had  accurate  information  to  detail  and  Steve  never  once  had  to  worry  about  misinformation  being  spread.</p><p>A  tightening  of  his  fingers  led  to  a  wet  popping  noise.</p><p>“I’ll  head  home  right  away  Peter.  Is  your  sister  home?”</p><p>Something  bad  had  happened  at  home  that  required  Steve’s  imminent  arrival.  A  gas  leak  would  have  meant  that  something  bad  was  still  going  on.  No  mention  had  been  made  of  you,  but,  Steve  still  wanted  to  check.</p><p>Your  attack  was  so  fresh.  It  was  all  he  could  think  about  when  he  let  his  mind  wander.  He  prayed  harder  than  he’d  prayed  in  a  while  that  Maria  had  dragged  you  out  on  the  water.</p><p>“No,”  came  Peter’s  voice  over  the  phone.  “It’s  just  me.”</p><p>Dead  weight  sagged  in  his  hand  as  Steve  walked  around  his  desk,  keeping  the  now  dead  Hydra  Loyalist  upright.  Head  sagging  to  the  side  from  the  spinal  cord  that  had  been  disarticulated  from  the  spinal  column,  the  very  dead  man  was  limp.</p><p>“Hang  tight.  I’m  finishing  up  something  here  but  I’ll  call  Bucky  next  and  have  him  come  right  over.  He  should  be  having  lunch  with  his  sister  right  now  and  can  get  there  quicker.  I’ll  be  there  in  ten,  fifteen  at  the  most.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Peter  watched  Bucky  and  his  sister  peer  down  into  the  box,  frown  and  then  Rebecca  put  a  pair  of  crooked  fingers  on  her  hips,  so  she  could  look  up  to  lock  eyes  on  him.  </p><p>Bucky  turned  this  way  and  that  to  look  into  the  box,  making  no  move  to  actually  reach  into  said  box.</p><p>“And  you  didn’t  see  who  left  this  on  your  stoop?”</p><p>Still  up  sitting  cross  legged  on  the  roof  of  your  car,  Peter  shook  his  head.</p><p>“What’s  your  tingle  tell  you?”</p><p>Leading  Bucky  to  look  up  at  mention  of  a  tingle.  He  looked  from  his  sister,  to  Peter,  curiously.  Having  just  looked  at  a  severed  foot,  a  severed  hand  and  what  looked  like  either  a  kidney  or  spleen.  Unable  to  tell  without  further  inspection  and  Bucky  had  no  plans  to  inspect  any  further,  he  was  grateful  for  the  reprieve  that  the  introduction  of  this  alleged  tingle  brought  up.</p><p>Something  close  to  embarrassment,  or  discomfort  crossed,  Peter’s  young  face.</p><p>Bucky  found  it  most  interesting.</p><p>“My  tingle…I  mean,  my  my  feeling,  my  feeling,”  Peter  corrected,  getting  a  look  far  from  caring  from  the  white-haired  track  suit  wearing  woman.  Bucky  merely  cocked  an  eyebrow  in  response.  “He’s  still  out  there.  Watching  us.  Whoever  it  is.  I  can  feel  it  down  deep.”</p><p>Rebecca  nodded,  rocking  back  on  her  Nike’s.</p><p>Everyone  in  the  garage  heard  the  sound  of  a  truck  pull  up  in  the  driveway,  cut  off  and  then  a  door  slam,  feet.</p><p>“Then  these  belong  to  that  woman  who  went  missing  the  other  day,”  Rebecca  inquired.</p><p>In  response,  Peter  shrugged,  Bucky  made  a  noise  that  was  most  likely  confirmation.</p><p>Blown  away  by  the  both  of  them,  she  rolled  her  blue  eyes  and  looked  back  down  at  the  body  parts  once  more.  “So  why’d  someone  drop  it  off  here?  There’s  no  name  on  the  box.  Who’s  it  for?”</p><p>Peter  was  quiet.</p><p>Bucky’s  nose  scrunched  up.</p><p>Sighing  loudly,  Rebecca  looked  from  her  brother,  then  to  the  young  man,  in  irritation.</p><p>“For  my  sister,  I  think.  She’s  usually  home  but  today  she’s  out,  spur  of  the  moment  thing  and  I  just  swung  by  to  see  if  she  went  or  not.”</p><p>The  look  that  Rebecca  shot  her  older  brother,  who  looked  numerous  decades  her  junior,  screamed  <em>was  that  so  hard</em>?!  After  which,  she  looked  back  to  the  boy,  as  the  door  to  the  garage  opened.</p><p>“So  then,  the  sockhead  who  attacked  your  sister,  sent  this  as  some  kind  of  a  message?”</p><p>“A  warning  or  threat  or  something,”  Peter  mumbled,  that  helplessness  tightening  his  chest.  The  same  one  that  he’d  felt  the  night  he  came  home  from  his  school  trip  and  saw  what  had  happened  to  you.  He  looked  over  at  Steve  as  the  blonde  crossed  the  garage  threshold,  took  in  the  sight  and  approached  the  box  warily.</p><p>It  was  Bucky  who  spoke  first.</p><p>“Took  you  long  enough.”</p><p>Steve  frowned  at  the  contents  of  the  box.  “I  had  to  stop  on  the  way  over  here.”</p><p>It  was  Bucky  who  spoke  again.  “Goddamn  it  Steve.  You  already  killed  someone  today?”</p><p>“Don’t  give  me  crap  Buck.  You  killed  three  members  of  the  Tac  Team  during  training  yesterday.  I  found  someone  going  through  my  desk.  I  can’t  have  people  going  through  my  desk  when  I’m  not  there.”</p><p>A  look  came  over  Bucky’s  face  as  his  sister  leaned  over,  shook  the  box,  jostled  it  around  which  Steve  still  could  not  believe.</p><p>Rebecca  was  alive.</p><p>Not  only  was  Rebecca  alive,  but  Rebecca  was  heading  up  the  Resistance  and  still  was  pretty  active  in  its  activities.</p><p>“Who’d  you  kill?”</p><p>“Hans,”  was  Steve’s  answer,  resulting  in  an  approving  nod  from  Bucky.</p><p>Hans  had  been  on  his  list.  Only  somewhere  around  the  middle,  not  exactly  a  pressing  priority  for  death.  Hans  had  been  sending  information  to  Hydra  heads  back  in  Europe  and  Russia.  That  alone  had  marked  him  for  death  sometime  that  year,  whenever  he  worked  through  the  top  part  of  his  kill  list.  Unfortunately,  James  Buchanan  Barnes  was  a  busy  man  reconnecting  with  his  sister  and  Steve,  working,  helping  out  with  the  Resistance  and  he  had  a  girlfriend.  Plus,  there  were  only  so  many  nights  that  could  be  allocated  for  date  nights,  in  order  to  work  on  his  list.</p><p>“Hans?  The  guy  who  was  always  on  the  news?”  Peter  inquired,  unmoved  from  his  perch,  as  Rebecca  crouched  down  to  tilt  the  box,  shake  it  up  good.</p><p>Nodding,  Steve  answered  the  young  man,  “Yeah.”</p><p>“So  now  you  have  to  replace  his  position?”</p><p>Another  nod  came  from  Steve  as  Bucky’s  attention  went  to  his  sister,  curious  as  to  what  in  the  hell  she  was  doing.  Hopefully  it  wasn’t  something  weird.</p><p>A  gnarled  hand  thrust  up.  “Give  me  your  asp  Jimmy.”</p><p>Hesitating  for  a  second,  he  reached  onto  his  belt  to  withdraw  a  small  metal  cylinder,  that,  with  a  snap  of  his  wrist,  extended  into  a  metal  baton.  Not  that  he  handed  it  over  to  his  sister.  Oh  no.  He  remembered  their  childhood.  “What  do  you  want?”</p><p>Pointing  with  that  hand,  a  nail  painted  coral  showing  the  way.  “Move  that  foot.  Somethings  under  it.”</p><p>Hesitating  once  more,  as  he  was  going  to  have  to  clean  the  hell  out  of  his  asp,  James  reached  down  to  lift  the  foot  for  his  sister,  seeing  that  there  was  indeed  something  underneath  it.  </p><p>Totally  missing  out  on  reacting,  or  offering  input  on  Peter’s  suggestion  to  Steve.  </p><p>“You  know…before  Hydra  took  over,  my  sister  was  studying  communications  in  college.  She  was  halfway  through  her  degree.  I  know  she’s  been  taking  online  classes  since.  I  don’t  know  if  she’s  done  with  her  degree  or  not,  but,  that’s  what  she  wanted  to  do,  before  all  this.  She  wanted  to  be  like  Ann  Curry  or  Keith  Morrison.  She’d  be  really  good  at  being  on  TV  talking  about  Hydra,  or  giving  press  conferences  for  you,  too.  She  loves  to  talk  and  no  one  can  out  argue  my  sister…well,  I  mean,  you  maybe.”  </p><p>Steve  blinked.</p><p>Surprised.  Bewildered.</p><p>He  shouldn’t  have  been  stunned  that  he  didn’t  know  that  about  you,  that  he  was  too  wrapped  up  in  his  own  shit  to  even  ask,  even  inquire  about  school  or  what  you  wanted,  or  had  been  up  to  before  Project  Insight  kicked  off.</p><p>But  he  was.</p><p> </p><p>						****</p><p> </p><p>Now  it  wasn’t  that  you  didn’t  enjoy  your  little  cruise  around  the  Potomac,  or  Chesapeake  possibly  the  Atlantic,  Middle  Earth  or  wherever  the  rather  large  yacht  went  cruising  around.  It  was  just  lovely  and  all.  However,  upon  going  out  on  the  water,  you  remembered  that,  you  were  not  a  sea  faring  type  person.  Not  surprisingly,  you  spent  most  of  the  afternoon  clinging  to  the  railing,  emptying  out  the  contents  of  your  stomach  and  questioning  why  man  had  ever  decided  to  set  forth  and  explore  the  watery  unknown.</p><p>You  were  no  help  to  Team  Horatio  Caine.  You  were  unable  to  appreciate  the  natural  beauty  of  the  water  and  when  you  threw  up  all  over  the  shiny  shoes  of  a  crew  member/yacht  club  representative,  no  one  made  any  additional  attempts  to  sign  you  up  for  yacht  club  membership.</p><p>Needless  to  say,  when  you  finally  managed  to  get  home,  you  were  in  no  mood  to  do  much  of  anything,  short  of  take  a  nice  hot  long  shower  and  lie  on  the  blissfully  unmoving  floor.</p><p>Upon  stumbling  into  the  front  door  and  kicking  off  your  pumps,  which  was  the  only  shoe  you  would  ever  wear  again,  having  assured  Maria  that  you  were  fine  to  be  alone  and  did  not  need  company,  you  made  extra  sure  to  deadbolt  the  front  door.  For  safety  reasons  and  to  keep  her  out,  because  Christ  almighty,  you  just  needed  a  gosh  darn  moment  to  yourself  after  the  past  day  or  so.</p><p>You  sagged  back  against  the  front  door.  You  rested  the  back  of  your  head  against  the  hard  door  and  closed  your  eyes.</p><p>Nauseous.  Uncomfortable.  Thirsty  too.</p><p>God  you  couldn’t  wait  for  the  week  to  end.</p><p>Something  caught  your  attention.  </p><p>Movement.</p><p>Flinching,  you  looked  and  inhaled  sharply,  realizing  that  you  weren’t  alone,  feeling  your  heart  suddenly  pound  and  your  body  go  ice  cold  in  sudden  terror  and  then…you  saw  Peter  peer  out  of  the  kitchen.</p><p>Peter.</p><p>Oh  thank  God.</p><p>It  was  just  Peter.</p><p>You  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  plopped  your  head  back  down  on  the  door.</p><p>“Hey,”  he  greeted.</p><p>“Sup,”  you  answered  in  return.  “You’re  home  early.”</p><p>Peter  leaned  in  the  doorway  not  missing  your  obvious  misery.  Even  with  all  your  makeup,  he  could  see  hints  of  bruises.  He  could  see  how  you  stood  stiffly,  favoring  one  side.  </p><p>“We  had  a  big  test.  Once  we  took  it,  we  were  released  for  the  day  so  I  came  home.  Steve  has  me  doing  some  research.  You  want  some  ice  tea  and  crackers?  I  just  made  some.”</p><p>Iced  tea  and  crackers?</p><p>Well  that  sounded  absolutely  fantastic.  </p><p>Pushing  yourself  off  the  door,  you  nodded  and  kicked  off  your  shoes.  Flung  your  purse  over  in  the  general  direction  of  the  couch  and  made  you  way,  slowly,  through  the  living  room  and  into  the  kitchen,  so  as  not  to  further  enrage  your  inner  self,  who  was  already  beyond  dizzy.</p><p>Plopping  down  at  the  little  table  in  the  kitchen,  you  noticed  Peter  had  one  of  the  thick  encrypted  laptops  from  Hydra  out  and  papers  that  he’d  been  making  notes  on.  Not  that  you  looked.  You  were  far  too  miserable.  Instead,  you  watched  your  brother  go  over  to  the  fridge  to  grab  a  pitcher  and  then  grab  a  glass  to  fill  it  for  you.</p><p>After  handing  it  over,  Peter  went  to  the  cupboard,  a  task  in  mind.</p><p>Steve  had  given  him  a  most  important  few  things  to  do  that  afternoon,  after  his  test  of  course.  One  required  you  and  he  was  incredibly  honored  to  be  trusted  with  such  a  thing,  to  have  Steve’s  trust  and  faith  in  him,  it  meant  more  than  words  ever  could.</p><p>“Hey,  so,  something  happened  this  afternoon.”</p><p>From  where  you  sat  at  the  kitchen  table,  you  merely  lifted  your  eyebrows  in  response  and  sipped  your  sweet  lemony  tea.</p><p>Standing  on  his  tippy  toes,  Peter  grabbed  a  box  and  then  came  back  your  way,  plopping  down  in  the  chair  across  from  you.</p><p>“Someone  left  a  box  with  body  parts  on  the  front  stoop.”</p><p>This  led  you  to  blink,  sip  and  then  inquire,  “Here?”</p><p>Peter  opened  the  box,  snagged  a  few  Wheat  Thins  of  his  own  and  then,  handed  it  over  to  you.  “Yeah.  Bucky  took  it  to  Rumlow’s  Widow  and  she  took  it  to  work  to  hide  it  for  now.  So  once  Steve  and  Bucky  get  off  work,  they’re  gonna  go  check  out  a  few  things.  Bucky  might  have  found  a  lead  on  who  the  guy  who  attacked  you.”  And  then  he  watched  you  process  all  of  that,  he  watched  you  slowly  watch  him,  narrow  your  eyes  and  think,  really  dig  deep,  until  you  eventually  snaked  your  hand  into  the  box  to  grab  a  few  crackers.</p><p>Leading  Peter  to  go  on  and  grab  something  from  beneath  the  laptop.</p><p>“Steve  asked  me  to  have  you  flip  through  these…see  if  anyone  looks  familiar.”  He  began,  remembering  that  Steve  had  told  him  to  be  casual,  not  make  a  big  deal  out  of  it.  He  wanted  you  to  not  be  pressured  and  therefore  wanted  Peter  to  show  you  the  pictures.  If  he  and  Bucky  were  home,  you  may  suspect  something.  “Obviously  you  can’t  identify  sockhead  from  the  garage.  But  maybe  someone  was  hanging  around  that  you  didn’t  notice  at  the  time?  Or  maybe  sockhead’s  eyes?  Or  the  shape  of  his  head?  Something?  I  dunno…but  here,  take  a  look.”</p><p>A  small  stack  of  fifteen  pictures.</p><p>Peter  pushed  them  across  the  table  and  watched  you  take  them,  munching  away  on  the  crackers,  far  from  concerned  or  wary,  more  mildly  curious.</p><p>Steve  didn’t  tell  him  who  he  and  Bucky  thought  your  attacker  was,  didn’t  want  to  influence  him  at  all.  Which  Peter  could  understand.  Steve  promised  to  tell  later.  All  Peter  knew  was  their  number  one  suspect’s  picture  was  in  there,  along  with  several  other  possible  contenders  and  some  other  faces  from  around  Hydra.  All  the  pictures  were  driver’s  license  photos  and  when  Peter  flipped  through  them,  he  felt  nothing,  recognized  no  one.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.</p><p>One  by  one,  you  looked  closely  at  the  pictures,  crunching  away  on  Wheat  Thins.</p><p>Slowly  your  eyes  looked  over  them  for  any  signs  of  anything  familiar.</p><p>Nothing.  Nada.</p><p>All  of  them  were  white  men  in  Steve’s  age  range.</p><p>Nothing  stood  out.  No  one  made  you  pause  or  hesitate.  You  looked  at  every  picture  as  if  your  life  depended  on  it,  but  nothing.  Not  even  a  flicker  of  a  spark  of  something.</p><p>When  you  came  to  the  last  picture,  you  shook  your  head,  feeling  somewhat  bad,  something  of  a  failure  for  being  unable  to  help.</p><p>“It’s  ok,”  Peter  smiled,  reaching  over  to  place  his  hand  over  your  bare  one.  “Why  don’t  you  go  take  a  nice  hot  shower  or  bath  and  get  comfy  on  the  couch?  I’ll  make  steak  tacos  for  dinner  and  we  can  watch  tv  together?”</p><p>And  you  weren’t  going  to  even  pretend  that  that  didn’t  sound  wonderful.</p><p>Slowly,  sighing  out  in  frustration  at  yourself,  you  nodded.  “Ok…what’s  that?  In  the  baggie?”</p><p>You’d  only  just  noticed  it  on  the  keyboard  of  the  laptop.</p><p>Not  hesitating  for  a  second,  Peter  handed  it  over.</p><p>A  clear  Ziploc  baggie  containing  a  torn  piece  of  white  paper,  stained  brown  with  blood.  It  was  the  bottom  of  a  page  and  no  bigger  than  two  fingers  in  size  altogether.  Something  had  been  typed  or  printed  on  it,  as  you  could  make  out  smeared  inky  letters.</p><p>“It  was  stuck  on  one  of  the  parts  in  the  box.”</p><p>Frowning,  you  looked  closely  at  it.  In  the  corner  was  the  hint  of  some  type  of  design…a  familiar  little  something  that  you  couldn’t  quite  put  your  finger  on.  It  was  so  familiar.  You  saw  it.  You  knew  you’d  seen  it  countless  times.  It  was  hanging  off  the  edge  of  your  brain,  it  was  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue,  you  could  practically  reach  out  and  touch  it.</p><p>It  just…was  out  of  your  grasp.</p><p>“Go  take  a  shower.  Maybe  it’ll  make  you  feel  better?  It  might  even  shake  something  lose?  The  guys  are  probably  gonna  be  pretty  late,  so  we  can  do  our  own  thing  tonight.  Just  me  and  you.  We  can  call  Aunt  May  and  speakerphone  too  while  we  eat.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>It  was  pretty  late  when  Steve  eventually  got  home.</p><p>According  to  the  brief  call  he  got  from  Peter,  you  hadn’t  recognized  any  of  the  pictures,  but,  you’d  definitely  recognized  that  bloody  piece  of  paper  that  had  been  stuck  to  the  severed  foot.  Which  had  been  a  surprise.  He’d  been  hoping  you  might  recognize  Colonel  Zemo’s  photo,  but  no.  </p><p>Which  wasn’t  the  end  all.  </p><p>He  and  Bucky  had  spent  all  night  watching  the  Sokovian.  Planning.  Strategizing.  Plotting.  If  you  couldn’t  point  the  man  out  and  say  he  was  the  one,  well,  they  had  the  blood  of  your  attacker.  All  they  needed  was  something  to  compare  it  to.</p><p>To  Steve’s  surprise,  the  house  was  shockingly  quiet.</p><p>Unusually  quiet.</p><p>A  light  in  the  kitchen  had  been  left  on.</p><p>However,  he  could  tell  no  one  was  on  the  ground  floor.  The  bedroom  that  you  shared  was  empty.  The  living  room  was  empty.  The  kitchen  was  empty.  Even  his  office  and  Bucky’s  room  was  empty.</p><p>It  was  so  quiet.  So  desolate.  Empty  and  a  stark  reminder  to  what  could  have  been,  what  his  life  could  have  been,  if  he’d  refused  the  arrangement  by  Hydra.  If  he  elected  to  remain  alone.  </p><p>Every  night  he  would  come  home  to  this  quiet  dark  loneliness.</p><p>It  made  his  chest  tighten.</p><p>He  could  still  be  alone,  just  like  he  had  been  after  waking  up.  Alone  in  an  empty  apartment  with  no  one  to  talk  to,  no  one  to  listen  to,  alone.  Being  reminded  of  that  loneliness  had  him  wandering  around,  until  he  cracked  open  the  basement  door.</p><p>Soft  light  resonated  downstairs.  </p><p>No,  he  didn’t  want  to  be  alone.  He  didn’t  have  to  live  with  that  silent  suffering  anymore.</p><p>As  quietly  as  he  could,  he  descended  the  stairs  to  the  finished  basement,  where  the  den  and  Peter’s  room  was  located.</p><p>Flowing  down  the  stairs,  till  he  could  look  out  over  the  space  that  he  and  Bucky  and  Peter  had  made  their  own,  over  the  past  few  months  with  a  few  couches,  a  TV  and  old  pool  table  that  they’d  found  at  a  yard  sale,  he  spotted  you  and  Peter.</p><p>Something  was  on  the  TV  that  neither  of  you  were  paying  attention  to,  as  Peter  appeared  to  be  writing  up  on  the  far  wall.</p><p>At  first,  the  thought  was  horrifying  to  Steve,  until  he  realized  that  there  was  poster-board  covering  the  entire  wall.  Peter  was  marking  up  something  spectacular  with  a  Sharpie.  Pulling  himself  down  the  stairs  and  around  the  furniture,  past  the  pool  table  and  over  to  the  big  wall  that  Peter  was  marking  up,  while  you  sat  on  the  floor.</p><p>Steve  was  floored.</p><p>The  two  of  you  had  been  busy.</p><p>Half  the  wall  was  marked  out  in  a  rough  sketch  of  the  area  with  stars  and  circles.  Each  star  marking  a  place  where  a  wife  was  abducted  and  a  circle  marking  where  remains  had  been  found.  Stars  greatly  outnumbering  the  circles.  However,  Steve  noticed  Peter  was  making  a  ton  of  notes  on  the  other  side,  which  had  a  timeline  of  events.  A  few  dates  were  listed,  but  it  seemed  more  to  be  a  timeline  of  victims  in  sequential  order.</p><p>Both  you  and  Peter  turned,  you  looked  up  from  where  you  sat  most  comfortably  on  the  floor  and  Peter  stood  at  the  wall,  marker  in  hand.</p><p>“Good  idea  Peter.”</p><p>And  his  chest  swelled.  His  cheeks  heated  up  at  Steve’s  words,  making  Peter  turn  his  back  to  finish  up  the  notes,  so  his  brother-in-law  didn’t  notice.  Steve  would  totally  notice.  </p><p>You  looked  up  from  your  notes  as  Steve  came  over,  plopped  down  beside  you  where  you  leaned  against  the  couch.</p><p>“It’s  almost  done…”  was  Peter’s  response.</p><p>And  then,  to  Peter’s  absolute  surprise,  Steve  spoke  to  you  as  if  he  were  asking  how  your  day  went  and  all  of  this  was  perfectly  normal.  </p><p>Oh  what  a  turn  his  life  had  taken.</p><p>How  Hydra  had  changed  things  so  dramatically  for  him,  all  of  them.</p><p>“What  would  you  say  if  a  job  position  opened  in  Hydra?”</p><p>You  were  surprised,  you  couldn’t  even  deny  it.</p><p>Peter  paused  in  his  writing  to  look  back  at  you  and  Steve.</p><p>“You’d  be  my  Media  Relations  Representative.  Speaking  to  the  press  and  being  on  the  news…all  those  kinds  of  things.  Peter  thinks  you’d  be  really  good  at  it  and  I  need  someone  that  I  can  trust  to  handle  those  things.”</p><p>Knowing  that  this  was  not  a  blessing,  or  an  opportunity,  a  gift  from  Saint  Peter  without  being  taxed  by  Saint  Paul,  your  brother  was  quiet.  How  could  he  have  even  suggested  it?</p><p>Peter  listened  as  Steve  continued.</p><p>“The  only  thing  is…you’d  have  to  become  a  member  of  the  Hydra  Party.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Deafening  silence.</p><p>Becoming  a  member  of  the  Hydra  Party  was  a  huge  step.  You  and  Peter  were  not  members.  There  was  a  difference  between  being  a  member  of  the  conquered  population  made  to  live  under  the  oppressive  rule  of  Hydra,  having  gone  through  reeducation  and  been  taught  the  new  way  of  things.  Learning  in  schools  by  children  and  teens.  But  to  become  a  party  member…to  become  a  member  of  Hydra…it  crossed  a  line.</p><p>If  you  became  a  member  of  Hydra,  you  were  no  longer  conquered,  you  were  a  collaborator.  </p><p>Steve  had  taken  the  oath  and  was  made  a  member  of  the  Hydra  Party.  He’d  sworn  the  oath  back  after  his  reeducation,  on  tv,  before  the  masses  for  a  show  of  propaganda.  Bucky  was  a  member  too.  Although  you  doubted  he  had  any  real  choice  in  the  matter,  since  you’d  never  seen  him  take  the  oath. You’d  assumed  it  must  have  happened  in  his  past.</p><p>You  would  have  to  swear  an  oath  to  Hydra,  like  people  did  who  joined  the  military,  or  to  became  a  citizen  of  a  country.</p><p>Essentially  you  would  betray  your  own  country.  You  would  betray  everything  you  believed  in.  You  would  betray  your  family  and  friends  and  everyone  who  died,  to  include  yourself.</p><p>You  would  be  guilty  of  treason.  </p><p>Treason.</p><p>There  was  a  reason  why  it  was  a  capital  offense.</p><p>
  <em>Treason.</em>
</p><p>It  was  not  something  that  you’d  ever  even  entertained.  Never  would  you  ever  have  thought  that  you  would  ever  commit  treason.  It  was  a  weird  word.  It  felt  weird.  It  was  irreprehensible  and  put  your  teeth  on  edge.</p><p>The  idea  of  this  position  Steve  had  offered  was  enticing  and  oh  how  badly  you  wanted  it,  how  much  you  wanted  to  do  it.  How  desperately  you  wanted  to  work  in  the  office  again  with  Steve,  to  have  a  purpose  and  do  something  to  help  out  the  cause,  going  into  a  den  of  vipers  in  that  quest.</p><p>But  now,  you  didn’t  have  Alexander  Pierce  to  look  out  for  you.</p><p>Now  you  wouldn’t  just  be  a  secretary,  office  staff,  help…now  you  would  be  a  member  of  the  enemy  party,  an  enemy.  You  would  no  longer  just  be  the  secretary  of  the  director,  or  the  wife  of  Captain  Hydra.  This  would  make  you  a  collaborator,  seditious,  a  treasonous  soul  that  you  had  previously  condemned  with  every  ounce  of  venom  and  hatred  you  could  summon  up.</p><p> </p><p>							***</p><p> </p><p>A  seed  had  been  planted.</p><p>Treason.</p><p>Treason.</p><p>Treason.</p><p>It  was  all  you  could  think  about  as  Steve  and  Peter  talked  about  the  map  and  the  kidnappings  and  killings.  It  was  all  you  could  think  about.  It  was  all  you  could  think  about  when  Peter  headed  off  to  go  help  out  Bucky,  with  something  that  you  completely  missed  out  on  in  your  ponderings,  about  the  implications  of  treason.  <em>Treason.</em></p><p>It  was  such  a  horrible  word.</p><p>Treason.</p><p>It  was  foreign  and  hard  sounding.</p><p>Never  once  had  you  ever  even  thought  that  you’d  be  considering  it  so  easily.  It  filled  your  head  as  Steve  stood  in  front  of  you,  hand  extended  down  to  pull  you  up,  so  he  could  help  you  upstairs.  Having  just  straightened  up  all  the  notes  and  papers  you  and  Peter  had  spread  out,  all  over  the  floor,  while  you  sat  dazed.</p><p>You  looked  up  at  him,  looked  him  right  in  those  baby  blues  and  asked  him,  dead  serious,  “Who  would  I  have  to  do  it  to?”</p><p>While  your  question  sounded  weird,  Steve  knew  what  you  meant.</p><p>When  you  didn’t  reach  up  for  his  hand,  he  plopped  down  beside  you,  leaned  back  against  the  couch  and  rested  his  hands  on  his  knees.  He’d  surprised  you.  It  was  obvious.  Telling  you  that  you’d  have  to  join  Hydra  as  a  party  member  had  clearly  shocked  you.  He  understood.  He’d  felt  the  same  way  when  he  took  his  oath  to  Hydra.  Like  he’d  just  swallowed  a  Molotov  Cocktail.  But,  in  his  defense,  he  expected  to  be  dead  long  ago.  He’d  never  thought  he’d  live  this  long  after  Hydra  rose.</p><p>“I  would.  I’d  take  your  oath  and  swear  you  in.  I  would  be  with  you  every  step  of  the  way.”</p><p>Steve  watched  your  lips  press  in  a  firm  line.  </p><p>He  watched  your  hands  clamp  on  your  thighs,  your  legs  cross  and  a  couple  times  you  moved  your  hands,  until  you  seemed  to  build  up  enough  will  to  reach  up,  place  your  hand  on  his  knee  and  over  his,  your  palm  sweaty  and  clammy  and  cold.</p><p>Building  yourself  up  for  the  question  that  he  had  hoped  you’d  never  ask.</p><p>“You  don’t  think  we’ll  ever  get  back  to  before?  That  we’ll  ever  get  rid  of  Hydra?  Do  you?”</p><p>It  was  a  horrible  thing  to  think.</p><p>It  was  a  horrible  thing  to  admit.</p><p>To  concede  the  loss  of  hope.</p><p>So  he  didn’t  say  anything.  He  didn’t  want  to  say  the  words,  to  let  them  free,  speak  them  and  make  them  real.</p><p>Instead,  he  leaned  over  to  butterfly  his  lips  over  your  cheek,  over  the  rise  of  your  cheekbone  and  the  corner  of  your  mouth.  You’d  showered.  He  could  tell.  Your  hair  was  untamed  and  not  a  drop  of  makeup  hid  the  everchanging  bruises.  Still  dark  purple  and  blue,  but  now  with  hints  of  brownish  green.  A  scab  had  started  to  form  on  the  side  of  your  face  and  up  in  your  hair.</p><p>Again,  you  were  wearing  his  clothes.  Baggy  grey  sweat  pants  that  were  several  sizes  too  big,  that  had  to  be  rolled  up  so  they  didn’t  drag.  A  sweatshirt  of  his  that  had  long  since  seen  better  days.  But  that  he  would  now  never  get  rid  of,  because  you’d  worn  it  and  the  image  was  burnt  into  his  head.</p><p>You  leaned  up  to  press  your  lips  against  his  in  a  kiss,  cautiously  moving  your  mouth.</p><p>“So  I’d  get  to  see  you  at  work?  During  the  day?”</p><p>He  nodded,  parting  his  lips  for  you,  allowing  you  to  explore  and  most  tenderly  take  part  in  that  act  of  affection.  Letting  you  take  the  lead  and  kiss  his  bottom  lip,  slip  your  tongue  between  his  teeth  and  taste  him,  pick  up  hints  of  minty  gum.  Almost  chastely  he  kissed  you,  tilting  his  head  just  so.  “You’d  be  three  doors  down  here.  In  our  new  building,  I’ll  make  sure  you’re  just  as  close.”</p><p>That  was  enough  to  sell  you.</p><p>That  was  enough  to  convince  you.</p><p>“Why  didn’t  you  tell  me?”</p><p>That  was  enough  to  make  you  pause,  hesitate,  pull  away  from  him  and  open  your  eyes  in  confusion  to  his  question.</p><p>Steve’s  breath  was  warm  on  your  mouth.</p><p>“Why  didn’t  you  tell  me  you  were  in  college?  Or  finishing  your  degree?”</p><p>Peter.</p><p>Peter  had  talked.</p><p>Because  you  sure  as  hell  hadn’t  mentioned  that  even  once,  and  the  question  made  you  sag  back  against  the  couch,  shift  as  your  side  protested  in  moderate  uncomfortable  pain. “Its…its  private.”</p><p>It  was  the  best  you  could  do,  say,  come  up  with  in  such  a  short  amount  of  time,  put  so  suddenly  on  the  spot.</p><p>“I’m  your  husband,”  was  his  quiet  response.</p><p>Another  off  the  cuff  answer  came  to  you  that  you  couldn’t  stop,  nor  could  you  pull  your  hand  from  his  knee  since  his  other  came  down,  sandwiching  your  hand  between  his  two.</p><p>“At  first  you  didn’t  want  to  be  and  it…was  the  old  me.  It  was  from  before.  It  belongs  to  someone  that’s  gone.”</p><p>Understanding.  </p><p>Steve  understood,  he  knew.</p><p>“Did  you  finish  it?”</p><p>Even  now,  speaking  about  it,  it  made  you  feel  too  open,  vulnerable,  as  if  you  were  exposing  a  weak  fleshy  underside  of  you  to  an  enemy,  one  who  could  use  it  against  you.  Once  it  was  out,  it  was  gone,  and  it  would  never  belong  to  you  ever  again.  You  couldn’t  tell  him  that  you  finished  it  last  year.  You  didn’t  want  to  tell  him  that  you  and  Peter  had  celebrated  together  at  your  favorite  restaurant.  That  was  something  that  you  shared  with  Peter,  it  was  a  part  of  your  life  that  felt  far  too  precious  to  share.  “Yeah,”  you  softly  told  him.</p><p>Considering  your  response  and  downright  evasiveness,  Steve  hesitated  and  decided  against  asking  you  about  it  further.  Instead  he  gripped  your  hand  between  his  and  said  in  no  uncertain  terms.  “I  want  to  get  married.”</p><p>Your  inner  you  clapped  right  back,  latching  onto  his  words  desperately,  in  order  to  get  the  hell  away  from  these  emotions  and  feelings  and  this  unpleasant  area  that  the  two  of  you  had  waded  into,  foreign  for  you  both.  “We’re  already  married  Steve.”</p><p>“A  real  marriage.  Me.  You.  Your  brother  and  Bucky,  your  aunt  and  a  priest.  I  don’t  want  Hydra  to  taint  this  anymore.  I  want  to  make  this  ours.  Only  ours.  Real  vows,  not  some  Hydra  Official  reading  from  a  leaflet.”</p><p>Treason  and  now  he  wanted  to  get  married,  again.</p><p>You  had  no  idea  what  to  say.  So  you  said  the  first  thing  that  came  to  mind.  “Steve…a  priest  is  serious.  We’d  be  married  for  real  then,  like  forever,  for  reals.  You’d  be  stuck  with  me  forever.”</p><p>“That’s  the  point  doll.”</p><p>God  help  you,  he  seemed  serious.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:::Hello friendly readers!! Thank you so much for your continued support and wonderful comments!! I apologize for the time between postings. Family was visiting for Thanksgiving and 2020 being fabulous and all. Resulting in this chapter being on the longer side. So I hope that makes up for it!!:::</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Two  nights  later…</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It  had  been  what  felt  like  forever  since  you’d  left  the  house  alone.</p>
<p>It  had  been  even  longer  than  what  felt  like  forever  since  you’d  done  something  stupid.  Really  stupid.  Like,  hella  stupid.</p>
<p>But  it  wasn’t  like  you  had  a  choice.</p>
<p>It  wasn’t  like  you’d  just  decided  to  go  and  do  something  that  Steve  would  absolutely  lose  his  every  loving  shit  over  when  you  got  home  from  Hydra  Orientation.  You  weren’t  pondering  new  and  inventive  ways  to  piss  Steve  off  during  your  day.  Not  now,  not  when  things  seemed  to  have  taken  a  turn  of  some  kind.</p>
<p>Yet,  when  you  arrived  home,  you  noticed  that  not  only  was  the  house  empty,  but  Peter  had  sent  you  a  text.  He  was  stuck  at  the  academy  that  night.</p>
<p>Steve  was  in  meetings  late  that  night.</p>
<p>Bucky  was  training  with  the  team.</p>
<p>Steve  was  under  the  impression  that  Peter  would  be  home  and  you  just  knew  that  when  he  found  out  that  you  were  home  alone,  you  were  going  to  get  an  earful,  especially  after  what  had  happened.</p>
<p>Considering  what  had  happened,  you  knew  you  should  have  just  gone  one  street  over  to  stay  with  Rebecca,  until  Steve  or  Bucky  got  back.</p>
<p>Considering  what  happened,  you  needed  to  be  safe.</p>
<p>All  things  considered,  you  didn’t  want  to  be  alone  in  the  house  and  you  didn’t  want  to  be  babysat  either,  like  some  sort  of  a  helpless  creature  and  that  led  you  to  your  momentous  choice  for  the  night.</p>
<p>You  were  going  out.</p>
<p>Where?</p>
<p>You  had  no  freaking  idea.</p>
<p>Your  two  days  of  orientation  had  been  more  than  good  for  you,  making  you  feel  more  like  yourself  than  you  had  in  a  while  and  that  thought  was  just  horrifying  to  you.  How  badly  that  bombing  at  the  Hydra  building  had  hit  you.  How  severely  your  life  had  been  impacted  by  Alexander  Pierce’s  death. </p>
<p>It  was  like  a  wave  had  hit  you,  shattered  a  part  of  you  and  taken  it  back  to  the  ocean  leaving  parts  of  you  behind.</p>
<p>Nothing  had  been  the  same  since  that  bomb  went  off.</p>
<p>When  you  got  home  and  realized  that  you  had  the  house  to  yourself,  for  an  interminable  amount  of  time,  you  made  the  decision  that  you  didn’t  want  to  just  stay  or  be  babysat.  And  as  you  made  up  your  mind  of  what  you  wanted  to  do,  you  heated  yourself  up  two  frozen  waffles  in  the  microwave,  so  they’d  be  nice  and  soft,  then  you  stood  in  the  kitchen  and  nibbled  on  them,  thinking.</p>
<p>After  downing  said  waffles  and  an  unhealthy  amount  of  sweet  tea,  you  changed.</p>
<p>Mindful  of  your  bruises  and  the  lingering  bits  of  tenderness,  you  wiggled  your  way  into  one  of  Steve’s  burgundy  button  up  shirts  and  a  pair  of  pumps,  that  had  now  become  your  new  official  footwear  choice  for  life.  Since  you  had  no  intentions  of  leaving  anything  up  to  fate  ever  again,  you  grabbed  a  handgun  from  your  dresser  that  Steve  pretended  he  didn’t  know  was  in  the  bottom  of  your  lingerie  drawer  and  stuffed  it  in  the  front  pocket  of  your  jeans. </p>
<p>Before  you  left  the  house,  you  grabbed  a  handful  of  cash  from  the  bowl  on  the  kitchen  table  that  Steve  and  Bucky  and  Peter  were  always  emptying  their  pockets  into.</p>
<p>Originally,  you  fully  intended  to  call  Chad  the  Uber  Driver  Extraordinaire.  </p>
<p>Up  until  you  saw  keys  to  Steve’s  truck  in  that  bowl.</p>
<p>Over  the  past  week  you’d  been  attacked,  you’d  committed  treason  and  now  you  were  stealing,  nay,  borrowing,  your  husbands  vehicle  without  permission.</p>
<p>At  this  rate,  you’d  be  robbing  banks  next  week.</p>
<p>So  off  you  went,  driving  around  DC  in  Steve’s  truck,  somewhat  aimlessly.  You  had  no  end  destination  in  mind.  You  didn’t  have  a  plan.  You  didn’t  even  have  an  idea  in  mind.</p>
<p>Therefore,  it  was  not  a  huge  shock  to  you  when  you  wound  up  back  at  Target,  parked  in  the  parking  garage  for  a  while,  staring  at  the  scene  of  your  crime.  You  sat  in  Steve’s truck,  gripping  the  steering  wheel  and  playing  with  the  stitches  inside  of  your  mouth.</p>
<p>Sitting  in  your  husbands  truck,  smelling  him,  being  in  a  safe  comforting  place,  it  made  it  bearable.  It  made  it  ok,  being  back  there.</p>
<p>With  hands  that  had  short  filed  down  nails,  you  gripped  the  steering  wheel.</p>
<p>What  would  Aunt  May  do?</p>
<p>Soft  little  taps  came  as  your  fingertips  danced  over  the  leather  steering  wheel  and  you  looked  over  a  half  empty  parking  garage  in  thoughtful  silence.</p>
<p>Aunt  May  was  so  strong  no  matter  what. </p>
<p>Aunt  May  had  told  you  to  do  what  you  needed  to  do  to  survive  when  Hydra  had  separated  your  family.  She  would  tell  you  to  take  the  job,  to  do  what  you  had  to  do  and  just  take  it  day  by  day.  Things  were  different  now.  Everything  was  different.  </p>
<p>Go  with  your  gut.  Follow  your  instinct.  Do  what  feels  right.</p>
<p>And  before  you  knew  it,  you  were  off  again.</p>
<p>Aimlessly  driving.</p>
<p>Steering  out  of  the  garage,  back  on  the  dark  roads  of  DC  and  cruising  around  with  no  real  purpose  or  goal  or  destination.  To  be  honest,  you  were  just  barely  paying  attention  too.  Feelings  of  doing  something  forbidden  filled  you.  Almost  like  an  entire  colony  of  bees  buzzed  inside  of  you.  You  half  expected  to  get  caught  by  a  Hydra  cop  and  have  someone  tell  Steve.  Very  much  channeling  that  naughty  child  with  their  hand  caught  in  a  cookie  jar.</p>
<p>Driving  around  in  silence,  because  you  turned  off  the  radio  to  concentrate,  something  caught  your  attention.</p>
<p>Your  little  eye  spied  something  that  had  you  veering  into  the  right  lane  and  quick  turning  into  a  parking  lot.  One  that  belonged  to  a  Catholic  Church.  One  that  had  a  big  statue  out  on  the  front  lawn.</p>
<p>Memory  sparking.</p>
<p>Back  from  when  you’d  been  the  old  you,  when  you’d  had  a  future  and  interests,  when  you  believed  in  things  and  generally  hadn’t  had  any  concerns.</p>
<p>Oh  how  things  were  different  now.</p>
<p>Now  everything  was  different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve  had  absolutely  no  idea  what  you  were  up  to  and  neither  did  Bucky.</p>
<p>Both  men  watched  in  utter  disbelief  as  Steve’s  truck  swerved  into  the  right  lane  and  nearly  took  out  a  mailbox,  as  it  pulled  into  a  parking  lot  for  a  Catholic  Church.</p>
<p>“What  on  earth…”  came  from  Bucky  softly,  a  muttering  really.</p>
<p>Silence  came  from  Steve.</p>
<p>Seated  in  the  passenger  seat,  he  watched  his  truck  pull  into  a  dark  parking  lot.  Both  of  them  had  been  watching  you  for  the  past  hour  and  a  half.  Ever  since  the  two  of  them  got  home  to  find  an  empty  house,  your  cell  phone  in  your  purse  on  the  kitchen  floor  and  Steve’s  truck  missing  from  the  garage.</p>
<p>Had  there  not  been  a  tracker  in  his  truck,  he  would  have  been  terrified.</p>
<p>Steve  had  put  one  in  when  Peter  moved  in  and  on  occasion  used  the  truck.  Not  that  he’d  ever  had  to  use  it.  Not  till  he  couldn’t  find  you.  Not  till  Bucky  told  him  his  truck  was  gone.  Not  till  he  dug  around  your  dresser  looking  for  that  gun  Phil  had  given  you  and  not  finding  it.</p>
<p>Having  absolutely  no  idea  what  in  the  hell  you  were  doing  back  in  the  Target  parking  garage,  nor  here,  Steve  unhooked  his  seatbelt.  He’d  waited  long  enough.  He’d  watched  you  long  enough.</p>
<p>“Is  she  Catholic?”</p>
<p>Bucky  pulled  into  the  dark  parking  lot  of  a  doctor’s  office  and  parked,  again,  for  the  second  time  that  night,  after  having  tracked  you  down  in  the  parking  garage.</p>
<p>Both  super  soldiers  watched  you  slide  out  of  the  truck  somewhat  stiffly,  then  walk  across  the  parking  lot  of  the  church.</p>
<p>Honestly,  Steve  answered  his  friend.  “I  have  no  idea.”</p>
<p>Unimpressed,  Bucky  was  quiet  as  he  leaned  forward  to  peer  past  Steve.</p>
<p>“I’ll  go  see  what  she’s  up  to.  Thanks  for  coming  Buck.”</p>
<p>Only  moderately  unimpressed,  Bucky  nodded  and  watched  Steve  climb  out  of  the  passenger  seat  of  the  car  he’d  acquired  from  Hydra.  He  couldn’t  quite  put  his  finger  on  it  either.  But  Bucky  also  had  a  ton  of  other  stuff  he  could  have  been  doing  and  it  wasn’t  like  you  were  his  wife.  Which  was  why  he  gave  Steve  a  rousing  pat  to  the  bicep  in  support,  as  the  suit  clad  man  slipped  out  and  into  the  cloudy  night.</p>
<p>Not  only  did  Steve  have  absolutely  no  idea  if  you  were  catholic,  he  had  no  idea  if  you  were  religious  or  a  church  going  type  of  person. </p>
<p>And  yes,  that  was  on  him.  He  probably  should  have  asked  at  one  point  in  time.</p>
<p>In  the  early  years  of  your  marriage,  he  was  far  from  good  husband  material.  Not  that  he  was  going  to  say  he  would  be  the  best  husband  ever  now.  Steve  wasn’t  sure  if  that  was  even  possible.  But  he  could  do  better.  Things  had  not  turned  out  as  horribly  as  he  expected  and  things  could  be  made  better  on  his  end.  If  he  wanted  to  do  more  than  just  function,  he’d  have  to  do  significantly  better.</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>Pausing  before  he  shut  the  passenger  door  as  quietly  as  possible,  Steve  peered  in  at  his  friend.</p>
<p>“You  gotta  be  patient  with  her  Steve.  Her  head  might  be  in  a  weird  place  after  what  happened.  We  don’t  know  why  she’s  out  driving  around  aimlessly,  or  what  she’s  doing.”</p>
<p>That  Bucky  felt  it  needed  to  be  said  was  annoying,  yet  not  untrue.</p>
<p>Clenching  his  jaw,  Steve  said  nothing  but  nodded  and  then  shut  the  passenger  door  as  quietly  as  possible.  Setting  off  a  flurry  of  snowballing  feelings  within.  Mostly  because  what  Bucky  had  said  was  warranted.</p>
<p>Walking  through  the  dark  parking  lot  towards  the  church’s  blacktop,  he  couldn’t  help  but  feel  a  sense  of  déjà vu.  Having  been  here  before,  back  on  that  night  when  he’d  tracked  you  down  to  that  fleabag  hotel.  On  the  night  he’d  found  out  you  and  Peter  were  in  the  resistance.  On  the  night  that  he  found  out  you  were  maybe  not  all  that  vapid  as  he  originally  suspected.</p>
<p>What  on  earth  could  you  be  up  to  now?</p>
<p>Going  to  the  parking  garage  at  Target  and  staying  in  his  truck,  just  looking  out  over  where  Bucky  said  it  had  happened,  had  been  hard.  Only  the  fact  that  you  didn’t  seem  emotionally  distressed  kept  him  from  getting  out  of  the  car  then.</p>
<p>All  of  your  aimless  driving  had  been  unusual,  but  not  out  of  the  norm  for  you.</p>
<p>Personally,  Steve  was  fifty  fifty  on  you  either  being  on  the  verge  of  some  kind  of  an  emotional  break,  or,  maybe  you  had  thought  of  something  and  were  out  snooping  around  which  was  what  made  him  clench  his  jaw,  curl  his  hands  into  fists  and  breathe  through  his  nose.</p>
<p>Sticking  to  the  shadows  in  the  suit  he  hadn’t  even  had  a  chance  to  change  out  of  from  work,  he  watched  you  stiffly  climb  up  the  steps  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  church.</p>
<p>You  tried  to  go  in,  but  it  seemed  that  the  doors  were  locked.</p>
<p>Steve  watched  you  try  the  other  door.</p>
<p>He  watched  you  back  up  a  few  steps,  sigh  and  then  turn  to  walk  carefully  down  those  stairs,  gripping  the  handrail  in  the  process.  Intent.  Determined.  He  watched  you  walk  around  the  side  of  the  church,  along  a  sidewalk  and  followed.</p>
<p>From  the  manner  in  which  you  walked,  it  was  clear  that  this  building  was  not  new  to  you.  You  walked  past  a  door  without  a  second  look  that  when  he  strolled  by,  he  noted  there  were  no  handles,  or  any  way  to  open  it  from  the  outside  and  in  the  dark  of  the  night,  with  your  normal  vision,  you’d  need  to  examine  it  to  know  that  for  sure.</p>
<p>On  you  walked  in  pumps.</p>
<p>Clear  as  day  he  heard  them  on  the  sidewalk.</p>
<p>On  you  walked,  back  to  a  second  door  that  was  equally  poorly  lit.</p>
<p>Steve  stopped  and  watched  you  attempt  to  open  that  door,  failing  as  it  was  apparently  locked  too.  Steve  watched  you  sigh  loudly,  annoyed  and  huff  out  in  frustration,  even  stomp  your  little  foot  before  you  looked  around.</p>
<p>Obviously,  whatever  you  were  doing  was  neither  planned  nor  well  thought  out.</p>
<p>And  then  you  knelt  over  and  grabbed  a  rock.</p>
<p>Spurring  Steve  to  act  before  he  could  even  think  better.</p>
<p>Having  absolutely  no  idea  what  you  were  going  to  do  with  this  rock,  or  the  door,  which  had  glass  paneling  up  one  side,  he  hurried  forward  and  grabbed  your  hand  holding  said  rock  before  you  could  do  anything  in  the  realm  of  damaging  property.</p>
<p>A  pained  noise  came  from  you,  stunning  him.</p>
<p>A  noise  he’d  never  heard  from  you.</p>
<p>Desperately,  frantically,  like  an  animal  with  its  foot  caught  in  a  trap,  you  whirled  around,  other  hand  reaching  down,  digging  into  your  jeans  pockets.</p>
<p>Knowing  exactly  what  was  missing  from  your  dresser,  Steve  knew  what  you  were  doing  and  he  had  little  to  no  desire  to  get  shot.  The  super  soldier  serum  didn’t  make  him  immortal  and  knowing  your  luck,  you’d  manage  to  shoot  him  right  between  the  eyes  for  once.</p>
<p>“It’s  me!  Doll  it’s  me!  Steve!”</p>
<p>Even  in  the  dark,  without  enhancements,  he  would  have  been  able  to  see  your  panic,  hear  your  fear.  Just  holding  your  wrist  and  arm  he  could  feel  how  rigid  you  were.  Without  any  assistance,  he  would  have  been  able  to  hear  your  gasps  and  panicked  mews.</p>
<p>There  was  not  a  doubt  in  his  mind  that  you’d  shoot  him.</p>
<p>“Steve?”</p>
<p>Still  he  didn’t  let  go  of  you.</p>
<p>“It’s  me,”  he  reiterated,  two  more  times,  slowly  and  methodically,  until  he  was  absolutely  certain  that  you  understood  and  weren’t  so  tense,  weren’t  so  obviously  terrified.</p>
<p>Even  then,  Steve  held  onto  you.  “What  are  doing?”  His  voice  was  harsh.  His  grip  tight.  Giving  you  a  good  strong  jerk  to  the  here  and  now  with  him.  Making  the  rock  fall  from  your  hand  to  the  concrete  walkway  with  a  sharp  clatter.  </p>
<p>The  panic  that  Steve  had  felt  when  he  arrived  at  the  house  bubbled  up  to  the  surface.  Finally,  able  to  be  released  now  that  you  were  safe,  here,  in  his  grip.  And  perhaps  he  was  a  little  angry,  a  touch  volatile  in  his  relief  tinged  with  exasperation.</p>
<p>“You  left  your  phone  at  home!  You  didn’t  even  leave  a  note!”</p>
<p>Like  a  fish,  your  mouth  gaped.</p>
<p>You  had  no  response.  </p>
<p>And  not  for  a  lack  of  courage,  or  ability,  to  stand  up  for  yourself  to  your  husband.  Quite  simply,  such  a  thought  to  leave  a  note  or  take  your  phone  had  never  even  crossed  your  mind  when  you’d  left  the  house.  It  was  not  intentional  on  your  part.  His  distress  made  it  clear  to  you  that  such  a  lack  of  forethought  on  your  part  was  not  going  to  be  forgotten  in  the  near  future.  </p>
<p>“What  in  the  hell  were  you  even  planning  on  doing  with  that  rock?  Tell  me  you  weren’t  going  to  break  into  a  church  by  breaking  a  window!”</p>
<p>Ok,  so  it  wasn’t  your  best  plan.  But  it  was  all  you  could  think  up.</p>
<p>Beneath  the  moonless  sky  you  looked  to  the  door,  away  from  Steve,  remembering  why  you  were  here  before  he  scared  the  bejeezus  out  of  you.  Making  you  jerk  beneath  his  grip  until  it  loosened,  although  did  not  pull  free.</p>
<p>Like  clouds  parting,  you  were  able  to  form  a  semi-coherent  statement.  “I…I  needed  to  get  out.  I  needed  to  be  out.  And…I  drove  by  here  and  remembered  something.  I  need  to  get  in  here  and  see  something.  I  need  to  see  if  I’m  right.”</p>
<p>Unimpressed,  Steve  did  not  let  you  go.  “What  do  you  need  to  see  so  badly  that  you  were  going  to  break  into  a  church?”</p>
<p>Yeah,  you  were  planning  on  breaking  into  a  church.</p>
<p>It  was  not  your  proudest  moment.</p>
<p>Could  you  even  say  the  words?  You  wanted  to  break  into  a  church,  in  the  middle  of  the  night  or  close  to  it,  just  to  see  if  your  flash  of  maybe  recognition  was  correct?</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>Steve’s  voice  was  sharp  as  it  cut  through  the  night,  making  you  look  back  up  at  him,  up  at  where  you  suspected  his  eyes  would  be  in  the  dark.</p>
<p>Did  you  dare  tell  him  in  case  you  were  wrong?</p>
<p>“Tell  me!”</p>
<p>His  hand  still  gripped  your  wrist,  while  his  other  fingers  were  wrapped  around  your  bicep.</p>
<p>“Stop  keeping  secrets  from  me!”</p>
<p>Something  in  his  tone  was  like  a  slap  to  your  face.  It  really  <em>really</em>  caught  your  attention  and  had  you  focusing  on  him.  Really  focusing  on  him.</p>
<p>His  voice  sounded  so  rough,  gritty,  like  sandpaper  against  you.</p>
<p>“I’ve  never  lied  to  you.  I  may  not  have  always  been  kind  and  that  is  on  me.  You  didn’t  ever  do  anything  and  you  didn’t  deserve  it.  But  I  have  never  been  dishonest  with  you.  And  now,  everything’s  different  and  it’s  me  and  you  and  I  want  you  to  be  honest  with  me.  Even  if  it’s  stupid  or  absurd  or  something  I’m  not  going  to  understand.  I  want  to  know  what  you’re  thinking.”</p>
<p>How  could  you  say  no  to  that?  How  could  you  deny  him  after  that?</p>
<p>Everything  was  different  now.  </p>
<p>Tomorrow  you’d  get  sworn  into  Hydra.  Tomorrow  you  would  officially  start  your  new  job.  Tomorrow  you  would  be  a  real  Hydra  Member,  a  real  Hydra  Employee  and  you  would  be  in  it.  IN  IT.  There  was  no  turning  back.  There  was  no  going  back.</p>
<p>Swallowing  down  something  that  threatened  to  make  you  even  more  uncomfortable.  You  felt  yourself  grow  hot  at  the  implications  of  his  word’s  and  what  your  future  now  held.</p>
<p>Licking  your  lips,  you  looked  down.  Your  voice  was  soft  but  you  knew  his  hearing  would  pick  up  every  word.</p>
<p>“That  slip  of  paper.  In  the  box.  Rebecca  found.  I  think,  I  think  it  might  be  from  an  illustration  on  the  service  handouts.  Down  at  the  bottom,  you  know,  at  the  beginning  of  mass  you  get  the  service  outline  thing  and  on  the  front  is  the  artwork.  It  sorta  made  me  think  of  that  and  I  think  that  strip  of  paper  came  off  one  of  those  and  that’s  what  I  wanted  to  see,  I  wanted  to  look  for  one  of  those  handouts,  or  something  that  has  the  art  from  the  namesake  of  this  church.  I…I  don’t  know  if  it  will  help.  If  it  was  in  that  box  it  has  to  mean  something?  Maybe?  I  don’t  know.”</p>
<p>All  those  words  tumbled  over  one  another.  Coherent  and  reasonable  and  that  you’d  be  so  hesitant,  if  that  wasn’t  a  punch  to  his  gut.</p>
<p>“Let’s  go  inside  and  look  then.”</p>
<p>Deciding  to  not  tell  him  that  the  door  was  locked,  you  said  nothing.</p>
<p>Letting  go  of  you,  Steve  gave  your  bicep  a  gentle  squeeze  before  turning  to  look  the  door  over,  determine  a  better  way  to  get  in  the  church  that  did  not  involve  a  rock  through  glass.  Because  anything  was  better  than  that  level  of  petty  crime.</p>
<p>And  the  door  unlocked,  opened.</p>
<p>Somewhat  surprising  him,  as  his  attention  had  been  mostly  focused  on  you.  In  the  flash  of  a  second  that  it  took  for  the  door  to  open,  Steve  moved,  turned,  slightly  hid  you  with  his  broad  frame  as  much  as  possible,  as  you  peered  around  him  to  see  whom  had  opened  that  very  door.</p>
<p>His  surprise  turned  to  complete  shock.</p>
<p>Bruce  Banner  stood  right  there  dressed  up  as  a  priest.</p>
<p>Yet  another  punch  to  the  gut.  </p>
<p>“Steve?”</p>
<p>And  Steve  wasn’t  quite  there  anymore,  not  totally.  Therefore  it  was  not  so  hard  to  feign  confusion,  to  look  as  if  he  didn’t  remember  Bruce.  To  remember  the  hope  that  had  filled  him  after  the  Battle  of  New  York.  Recalling  how  wonderful  it  felt  to  meet  the  brilliant  scientist,  an  enhanced  someone  like  him.</p>
<p>Hydra  had  tortured  him  for  weeks  on  end  to  find  out  everything  he  knew  about  Doctor  Banner.  Weeks  that  were  nothing  but  blackholes  of  pain  and  suffering  and  misery  and  agony.</p>
<p>Seeing  Bruce’s  warm  brown  eyes  brought  back  the  electricity  that  ran  through  his  body.</p>
<p>Hearing  Bruce’s  voice  brought  back  the  water  that  went  into  his  mouth  and  lungs,  that  burnt  even  worse  when  he  threw  it  up,  as  his  serum  filled  body  expelled  the  water  from  his  lungs.  Which  hurt  worse  would  be  a  question  to  ponder  for  however  long  he  lived.</p>
<p>Hydra  had  wanted  Bruce.  They’d  wanted  him  so  badly.</p>
<p>Never  once  had  Steve  given  up  anything.  He’d  endured  the  pain,  he’d  endured  it  all  without  a  word.</p>
<p>He’d  broken.</p>
<p>Of  course  he’d  broken.</p>
<p>Something  had  broken  in  him  down  deep.  Not  that  he’d  ever  given  up  anything.  Yes,  he’d  turned.  Yes,  he’d  capitulated.  Yes,  he’d  become  a  member  of  Hydra.  Whatever  it  was  that  had  snapped  within  him,  it  hadn’t  broken  to  turn  him  against  his  friends  and  everyone.  </p>
<p>What  had  broken  had  been  on  a  far  deeper  level,  a  significantly  more  basic  part  of  him.  It  was  that  part  of  him  that  allowed  him  to  look  at  Bruce  as  if  he’d  never  seen  him  a  day  before  in  his  life.  It  was  a  part  of  him  that  let  him  pretend  he  hadn’t  battled  an  alien  hoard  for  the  city  of  New  York  all  those  years  ago.</p>
<p>In  that  moment…Steve  felt  nothing.</p>
<p>He  felt  absolutely  nothing.</p>
<p>“Steve?  Captain  Rogers?  It’s  me.  Bruce.  Bruce  Banner.”</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Not  a  blink.  Not  a  twitch.  Not  even  a  flicker  of  anything  resembling  an  actual  human  emotion.</p>
<p>What  he  did  feel  was  the  breaking  of  his  ribs  and  femur  and  collarbone  from  the  beatings  he’d  received.  What  he  could  vividly  remember,  was  how  the  electric  batons  felt  against  his  flesh,  again  and  again  and  again.</p>
<p>When  he  spoke,  it  was  with  authority,  it  was  focused.</p>
<p>“I’m  apologize  Father  Banner,  I  can’t  quite  place  you.”</p>
<p>Which  you  knew  was  a  damn  lie.  On  more  than  one  occasion  you  could  remember  Steve  talking  about  Bruce  Banner.  He  knew  who  he  was  without  a  doubt.  On  the  other  hand,  here  he  was,  reverting  back  to  Captain  Hydra,  pretending  he’d  forgotten  and  if  Steve  was  doing  that,  then  there  had  to  be  a  reason.  So  you  decided  to  chart  the  same  course  and  back  him  up.</p>
<p>It  saddened  you  to  see  the  confusion  on  the  infamous  Bruce  Banner’s  kind,  downright  normal  looking  face.  Who  would  have  ever  thought  he’d  turn  into  a  big  green  rage  monster?  He  looked  so  nice,  sweet,  harmless  even…</p>
<p>Mister  nice,  sweet  and  harmless  noticed  you  and  those  big  brown  eyes  of  his  sparked  with  something.  “Ah,  you  found  the  paper  I  left  for  you  in  the  box.  Thank  you  for  coming  down  here.”  The  former  Avenger,  now  hiding  out  as  a  priest,  stepped  back  and  motioned  for  you  and  Steve  to  come  into  the  church.  “I’m  glad  to  see  that  you  survived  the  attack  after  what  he  told  me.”</p>
<p>And  that  was…not  at  all  what  you  had  expected.</p>
<p>Still,  you  followed  Steve  into  the  church  and  through  the  door,  into  a  dark  large  room  that  led  into  a  kitchen,  where  the  church  had  dinners  and  events. </p>
<p>Bruce  hit  a  light  switch  and  the  room  was  illuminated  for  your  non-enhanced  eyes,  allowing  you  to  see  tables  and  walls  decorated  with  calendars  and  fliers  for  events,  art  made  by  kids  too.  It  was  a  pretty  big  room  and  quiet,  it  was  so  quiet  that  it  felt  like  you  were  intruding.  </p>
<p>Your  stomach  twisted  and  you  reached  out  to  twist  your  fingers  up  in  the  back  of  Steve’s  suit  jacket.</p>
<p>“He  told  you?  The  man  who  attacked  my  wife?  You  know  who  he  is?”</p>
<p>Also  something  you  hadn’t  expected.  This  had  been  quite  the  night  for  you.  Your  fingers  twisted  even  more  into  the  small  of  Steve’s  back,  into  the  soft  warm  fabric  of  his  suit.</p>
<p>A  pained  noise  came  from  Bruce,  totally  priesting  it  out,  black  pants  with  a  black  shirt,  a  white  collar  and  all.  Nervously  he  wiped  his  hands  on  his  pants.  He  was  beyond  uncomfortable.  “In  a  way.  He  came  to  me  in  the  confessional  and  told  me  what  he  did.  By  the  time  it  was  over  and  I  got  out,  he  was  already  leaving.  The  church  was  full.  I  only  saw  him  from  the  back.  He  was  gone  by  the  time  I  got  outside  to  follow  him.”</p>
<p>He  was  telling  the  truth.</p>
<p>Steve  could  tell  Bruce  was  being  honest.</p>
<p>“When  I  didn’t  see  anything  on  the  news  about  the  directors  wife  being  in  the  hospital,  I  began  to  worry  that  you  didn’t  survive.”  Those  dark  eyes  looked  you  over,  pausing  at  the  bruises  that  decorated  your  neck  and  face.  Bruce  appeared  pained.  His  mouth  set  in  a  firm  line  and  you  legit  felt  for  the  guy.  He  seemed  guilty.  He  seemed  to  be  for  real  upset  at  your  state.</p>
<p>And  then  Steve  sided  over,  blocking  Bruce  from  your  line  of  sight.</p>
<p>Needing  to  be  that  force  between  you  and  Bruce.  It  was  absurd  and  ridiculous.  Steve  couldn’t  begin  to  explain  it.  He  just  knew  that  he  had  to  protect  you,  he  could  not  fail  you  again.  He  could  not  let  anyone  else  hurt  you  ever  again.</p>
<p>Cold  words  shut  that  down.  “She’s  fine.”  </p>
<p>Bruce  never  had  a  chance  to  react,  to  say  anything  else.</p>
<p>“You  are  the  person  who  put  the  box  of  human  remains  on  my  front  stoop?”</p>
<p>Bruce  nodded  in  the  affirmative.  </p>
<p>Unable  to  believe  it,  Steve  didn’t  notice  you  peering  around  him  to  look  at  Bruce.  To  get  a  better  look  at  the  Hulk  himself.</p>
<p>“Usually  I  don’t  hear  confessions.  I’m  just  a  teacher  here  at  the  high  school.  But  one  of  the  students  asked  and  I  was  already  in  the  confessional  when  he  came  in.  He  left  the  box  here  as  I  asked.  I  didn’t  think  he  would,  it  was  the  only  thing  I  could  think  up  in  that  minute  and  then  he  was  gone  before  I  could  follow  him.”</p>
<p>He  couldn’t  believe  it.</p>
<p>Steve  could  not  for  one  second  believe  what  Bruce  was  telling  him.  “He  came  here?  To  confess?  For  what?  Attacking  my  wife?” </p>
<p>Slowly,  Bruce  nodded.  “When  I  found  it…I  had  no  idea  what  to  do  with  it.  I  never  thought  he  would  listen.  Whoever  he  is,  he  is  a  tortured  devout  man.  He’s  a  suffering  man.  This  is  some  manner  of  revenge  for  him,  for  what  Hydra  took  from  him.  Taking  from  Hydra  in  retaliation.”</p>
<p>Disbelief  clouded  you.</p>
<p>To  think  of  what  had  happened  to  you  in  that  garage,  to  think  that  it  was  a  person  like  you  or  Steve,  especially  Steve,  wreaking  havoc  for  what  had  been  done  to  whoever  he  was,  out  there  somewhere.</p>
<p>Disbelief  did  not  cloud  Steve.</p>
<p>Steve  didn’t  give  a  shit  about  why.  Perhaps  before,  perhaps  prior  to  your  attack.  Not  now  though.  Whoever  it  was  could  have  been  the  most  tortured  soul  on  earth  and  Steve  would  have  eagerly  put  them  out  of  their  misery.</p>
<p>In  hearing  that  from  Bruce,  he  could  remember  Bucky  telling  him  that  Colonel  Zemo’s  family  had  been  executed  by  Hydra  in  his  native  Sokovia,  when  he’d  refused  to  capitulate.  Which  was  another  puzzle  piece  sliding  into  place.  For  what  Steve  had  in  mind  to  do  to  your  attacker,  he  had  to  be  one  hundred  percent  positive.  He  had  to  be  over  one  hundred  and  ten  percent,  along  with  Buck.</p>
<p>“Do  you  remember  anything  about  him?  Does  anything  stick  out?”</p>
<p>He  watched  Bruce’s  brow  furrow  and  reached  back  to  touch  you,  the  feel  of  your  weight  pressed  against  the  small  of  his  back  helping  to  ground  him.  Feeling  you  touching  him  was  more  comforting  than  he  would  have  liked  to  admit.  Even  if  Banner  was  no  threat  to  you.  Of  course,  who  would  have  thought  a  quick  trip  to  Target  would  be  so  dangerous?</p>
<p>“An  accent.  He  had  an  accent.  Eastern  European?  Perhaps?  It’s  not  one  I  hear  very  often.  I’m  sorry  I  can’t  be  more  helpful  than  that.  He  was  an  average  guy.  Dark  hair.  Well  dressed.  Not  homeless  or  young  or  elderly.  Caucasian.”</p>
<p>True,  it  was  not  wildly  helpful,  it  did  help  exclude  a  good  amount  of  men  for  Steve.</p>
<p>Not  a  young  man.  Not  an  old  man.  A  white  guy.  Average  build  and  with  an  Eastern  European  accent,  which  was  where  Sokovia  was  located.  Dark  hair  too.  Colonel  Zemo  had  dark  hair  and  didn’t  dress  like  a  man  going  through  a  midlife  crisis.</p>
<p>Suddenly,  Steve  announced,  “Alright.  Thank  you,  Father  Banner.”  Which  was  a  surprise  to  the  both  of  you,  as  you  had  a  few  questions  for  the  good  father  and  Bruce  Banner  himself  was  bewildered  at  the  practical  dismissal.  Since  you’d  essentially  just  arrived  and  all.  </p>
<p>Blinking  and  gaping  as  Steve  turned  to  go,  shooting  you  a  look  that  shut  you  right  up  and  killed  any  silly  little  thoughts  about  staying,  talking,  questioning  Bruce  further  and  finding  out  more  information  all  around,  possibly  even  making  any  plans  for  the  future,  you  closed  your  mouth.</p>
<p>Something  was  most  certainly  afoot.</p>
<p>“Wait.  Wait  a  second.”</p>
<p>You  were  given  a  gentle  push  towards  the  door.  For  a  moment  you  hesitated,  you  wanted  to  stay  and  hear  more,  talk  to  Bruce  Banner.  Another  push  from  a  hand  set  against  your  shoulder  had  you  bending,  turning  and  taking  a  few  steps  towards  the  door.  You  were  not  at  all  happy  and  ready  to  give  Steve  a  piece  of  your  mind  once  you  were  in  private.</p>
<p>“Steve?  Hold  on.”</p>
<p>But  Steve  did  not  want  to  hold  on.  </p>
<p>“Director  Rogers,”  was  what  came  out  of  the  taller  blonde  man.  It  made  the  brunet  blink  as  you  came  to  a  stop  at  the  door,  hand  on  the  knob,  waiting  for  your  husband  to  join  you.  “Thank  you  for  your  help  Father  Banner.  I’m  sorry  to  have  bothered  you,  but  I  need  to  get  my  wife  home.”</p>
<p>There  was  a  finality  to  his  words.  An  authority  that  gave  you  chills,  it  started  in  your  spine  and  spread  out,  making  goosebumps  rise  on  your  skin.</p>
<p>And  it  was  so  wrong.</p>
<p>So  wrong.</p>
<p>Before  you  could  even  think  about  digging  deep  into  that  weirdness  of  you  being  a  little  turned  on  by  that  <em>tone</em>  Steve  took,  you  were  directed  to  get  to  stepping  by  the  man  in  question,  from  a  jerk  of  his  head  that  would  have  had  old  you  fussing  up  a  storm.</p>
<p>You  were  not  a  child.</p>
<p>You  weren’t  a  soldier  or  minion  or  Hydra  sycophant  who  would  do  as  asked,  when  directed,  according  to  said  directions.  Merely  the  fact  that  he  would  issue  such  a  directive  with  a  nod  should  have  made  you  bristle,  it  should  have  had  you  rightfully  outraged  and  had  it  been  years  ago,  Steve  would  have  had  someone  else  to  contend  with  while  making  his  exit  from  the  church.</p>
<p>Although,  now,  as  you  stepped  out  of  the  church  rec  room,  hearing  Bruce  ask  about  some  old  computer  game  called  Galaga,  you  found  yourself  sort  of  liking  that  tone,  finding  that  cold  authoritative  Directors  voice  a  little  sexy.</p>
<p>Which  was  weird.</p>
<p>You’d  never  been  turned  on  by  authority  figures.  Steve  was  a  big  turn  on  for  you.  But  asshole  Steve  usually  didn’t  do  it.  Granted,  usually  you  were  on  the  receiving  end  of  that  asshole-ish-ness.  So  this  was  new.  You’d  never  seen  him  properly  pull  the  Director  card  and  you  were  finding  you  kinda  liked  it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All  was  not  well  in  paradise.</p>
<p>Your  little  adventure  had  come  to  a  most  definite  end.</p>
<p>“Are  we  going  to  talk  about  any  of  that?  Because  he  could  have  been  a  little  bit  helpful?  Just  saying…”</p>
<p>Steve  didn’t  look  at  you.</p>
<p>Nope.</p>
<p>His  eyes  were  on  nonexistent  traffic  and  he  was  silent.  Not  a  word  had  come  from  the  man.  Not  when  he  helped  you  climb  up  into  the  passenger  seat  and  not  when  he’d  gotten  into  the  driver’s  seat.  A  severe  look  had  been  sent  your  way,  when  you  dared  open  your  mouth  upon  leaving  the  church.  Since  then,  you’d  given  him  the  peace  he’d  clearly  wanted  and  yeah,  you  got  it,  seeing  the  Hulk  was  probably  a  shock,  it  probably  brought  back  all  kinds  of  unpleasant  memories.</p>
<p>Strong  hands  gripped  the  steering  wheel  tightly,  making  the  leather  creak.</p>
<p>He  was  driving  you  both  home.</p>
<p>It  wouldn’t  take  long,  the  roads  were  practically  empty  in  your  neighborhood  as  Steve’s  truck  passed  houses  that  were  full  of  sleeping  people,  past  street  lamps  and  yards  that  looked  normal,  homes  that  looked  normal,  lives  that  looked  normal.  Everything  looked  normal.  Red  octopuses  weren’t  painted  everywhere.  Hydra  wanted  everything  to  appear  normal,  Hydra  wanted  to  make  their  takeover  seem  as  normal  as  possible.</p>
<p>“Why’d  you  pretend  you  didn’t  know  him?  I  know  you  remember  Doctor  Banner.  You’ve  mentioned  him  several  times  and  seemed  to  not  hate  him.”</p>
<p>From  across  the  seat  in  the  dark,  only  illuminated  when  Steve  drove  under  a  streetlamp  in  the  suburban  hell  scape,  his  voice  snapped  through  the  interior  like  glass  cracking.  “Can  we  just  not  talk  about  it  right  now?”</p>
<p>A  snappy  response  was  right  there,  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue,  along  with  that  heat,  that  tingling  over  your  skin  at  his  demeanor.</p>
<p>Something  had  to  have  been  wrong  with  you.  You  were  getting  turned  on  by  something  that  you  had  no  business  being  turned  on  by.  You’d  never  once  been  turned  on  by  this  side  of  him.  Maybe  your  attack  had  changed  something?  Maybe  it  was  having  been  celibate  since  your  attack.  You’d  never  not  been  sexually  active  for  this  long  since  you  married  the  disgruntled  super  soldier  beside  you.</p>
<p>“I  thought  you  wanted  us  to  be  more  open  and  honest?”</p>
<p>Blue  eyes  round  with  outrage  looked  at  you  across  the  seat,  as  if  demanding  to  know  why  on  earth  you  would  throw  that  back  in  his  face,  or  have  the  audacity  to  bring  that  up.  </p>
<p>Steve  nearly  hit  a  mailbox.</p>
<p>His  next  words  lost  none  of  his  venom.  His  next  words  were  ground  out  though,  perhaps  a  bit  lower.  “I’m  not  being  dishonest.  I’m  collecting  my  thoughts.  I  need  a  moment  to  think.”</p>
<p>Unimpressed,  you  made  a  noise.</p>
<p>A  noise  he  very  much  heard.  In  response,  in  the  dark  of  his  truck,  his  jaw  clenched.  </p>
<p>“Fine.  Cool.  I  get  it.  Seeing  Bruce  after  all  this  time  has  to  be  a  shock  without  even  bringing  up  the  box  of  body  parts  he  left  on  our  front  stoop.  Sure,  I  mean,  he  could  have  had  more  information  for  us.  Not  that  we  need  it  all  now.  He  teaches  at  the  school,  so  one  of  us  can  always  go  back  to…”</p>
<p>“No!”  Steve  barked,  nearly  missing  the  turn  for  your  street,  making  you  jump  in  your  seat  in  surprise.</p>
<p>For  just  a  second  you  were  briefly  concerned.  Was  Peter  sprinting  from  rooftop  to  rooftop  again?  Bucky  had  promised  no  more  testing  out  the  full  range  of  Peter’s  powers.<br/>
You  even  peered  out  the  windshield  to  see.</p>
<p>“Under  no  circumstance  are  you  to  go  back  to  that  church,  or  contact  Bruce.  Never  again.  Do  you  understand?  If  you  see  him  after  this  point,  you  will  pretend  that  you  never  set  eyes  on  him.  If  someone  asks  about  him,  you  defer  them  to  me.  You  and  me  are  going  to  pretend  that  tonight  never  happened.  Period.  That’s  it.  Got  it?”</p>
<p>And  you  bristled.</p>
<p>How  could  you  not?</p>
<p>You  also  may  have  found  his  authoritative  manner,  well,  shit,  it  was  doing  something  for  you.  Unless  there  was  a  Hydra  minion  around  for  Steve  to  bark  orders  at,  you  couldn’t  have  been  more  turned  on.  Indeed,  it  was  quite  the  weird  turn  and  that  expression  of  abject  confusion  must  have  peeked  through,  because  your  dear  husband  went  on,  looking  over  at  you,  ire  rising.</p>
<p>Half  of  you  wasn’t  about  to  let  any  man  you  shared  your  bed  with  command  you  to  do  something,  like  you  were  a  soldier.  On  the  other  hand,  hearing  him  use  that  tone  with  you  and  assume  you  would  just  step  to,  well,  you  almost  wanted  to  see  where  this  would  go.</p>
<p>Up  ahead,  the  house  you  shared  with  Peter  and  Bucky  came  into  view.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow  makes  everything  different.  Tomorrow,  you  are  going  to  become  a  member  of  Hydra  and  Hydra  is  still  scouring  the  earth  for  Bruce.  If  they  even  get  an  inkling  that  you  may  have  had  contact  with  him,  they  will  take  you  and  Peter  and  me  and  we  will  never  be  free  again.  They  will  do  horrible  things  to  us.  It  will  be  over  and  you  will  end  up  wishing  for  death.”  Which  Steve  knew  for  a  fact.  For  so  long  he’d  wished  for  death.  For  so  long  he’d  wanted  it  all  to  end.  For  so  long  he’d  trudged  through  that  to  get  to  the  here  and  now.  He  was  no  longer  the  same  person  who’d  begged  Hydra  to  kill  him  and  he  wasn’t  going  back,  or  letting  it  happen  again  because  of  Bruce  fucking  Banner.</p>
<p>Another  weird  expression  crossed  your  features.  “Why  are  you  telling  me  this?” </p>
<p>“Because!  You  need  to  be  smart!  You  need  to  stop  taking  risks!  I  need  you  to  be  here  with  me!  It  isn’t  just  you  and  Peter  and  May  anymore!”</p>
<p>“I  know  that,”  was  your  snappy  comeback.</p>
<p>Thank  goodness  it  was  dark.  Thank  goodness  a  good  portion  of  your  bruises  were  hidden  or  Steve  would  never  have  been  able  to  go  on,  to  argue,  to  come  back  at  you.  “Start  acting  like  it!  You  drive  me  crazy!  One  minute  you  do  unreasonably  dumb  things…like  leaving  the  house  without  your  phone,  or  purse,  to  go  cruise  the  city  with  no  rhyme  or  reason.  And  then  the  next,  you’re  someone  entirely  different,  you’re  someone  that  I  can  trust  and  rely  on  and  someone  I  want  to  be  worthy  to  deserve!”</p>
<p>If  he  slapped  you,  you  would  have  been  less  shocked.</p>
<p>Spinning  in  your  seat  to  face  him,  you  could  have  cared  less  that  he  slowed  down  to  pull  into  the  driveway,  or  hit  the  garage  door  opener  up  on  the  visor.</p>
<p>“Jesus  Steve!”</p>
<p>He  made  that  noise,  one  of  frustration,  as  if  you  were  an  unruly  child  and  then  he  shook  his  head  in  frustration  and  you  didn’t  care.  You  knew  what  the  problem  was  and  after  years  spent  with  the  man  beside  you,  you  knew  what  he  needed.  While  he  may  have  been  a  super  soldier,  he  was  still  a  man  with  the  needs  of  a  man,  needs  of  a  human.  He  was  a  human  being  even  if  he  was  enhanced.</p>
<p>“Steven  Grant  Rogers!”</p>
<p>That  earned  you  a  little  bit  of  side-eye  as  he  pulled  up  the  driveway  and  towards  the  garage.</p>
<p>One  hand  fell  on  the  dash  as  you  tried  to  make  yourself  comfortable.  “Do  not  take  that  tone  with  me.  I  am  not  a  Hydra  goon.  I’m  not  your  soldier  either.  Now,  I  realize,  what  happened  to  me  at  Target  happened  to  you  to.  What  happens  to  one  of  us  happens  to  the  other  and  I  know  you  must  have  been  terrified.  I  know  Pierce’s  death  was  equally  as  hard  on  you  as  it  was  me.  And  I  know,  for  sure,  tomorrow  is  as  terrifying  for  you  as  it  is  for  me.  So  I  am  giving  you  a  pass  for  tonight.”  </p>
<p>That  look  he  gave  you  upon  pulling  into  the  garage  and  putting  his  truck  in  park.  It  could  have  scorched  the  earth  in  its  displeasure.  </p>
<p>“I  love  you  Steve.  I  love  you  more  than  I’ve  ever  loved  any  man.  I  can’t  live  a  day  without  seeing  you  and  hearing  your  voice.”  Though  his  expression  did  not  change,  he  turned  off  his  truck  and  gave  you  his  full  attention.  All  as  you  heard  the  garage  door  shut,  soon  plunging  you  both  into  darkness  when  the  courtesy  lights  inside  eventually  went  out.  “Tell  me  what  you  aren’t  saying.  Somethings  bothering  you.  You’re  moodier  than  usual.”</p>
<p>In  that  temporary  light,  Steve  sucked  on  the  inside  of  his  mouth  and  gritted  his  jaw  as  he  did  in  times  of  extremes.</p>
<p>And  you  were  right.</p>
<p>Every  word  out  of  your  mouth  was  correct.</p>
<p>Here  he  was,  about  to  make  you  a  member  of  Hydra  and  put  you  in  even  more  danger  and  he  was  excited,  he  was  looking  forward  to  this,  he  was  eager  to  go  down  this  path  with  you.  Considering  what  had  just  happened…he  was  a  monster.</p>
<p>Missing  seeing  you  during  the  day  was  not  a  good  reason  enough  for  what  would  happen  tomorrow.</p>
<p>Eventually…the  light  went  out.</p>
<p>You  stayed  quiet.</p>
<p>You  waited  for  him.</p>
<p>Sliding  into  that  place  where  you  were  a  partner,  a  confidant,  someone  he  wanted  to  be  good  enough  for,  someone  he  didn’t  feel  like  he  had  to  look  after.</p>
<p>“I  don’t  want  to  destroy  you.”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>In  the  dark,  he  could  see  your  outline,  he  could  see  more  of  you  than  you  could  see  of  him.</p>
<p>“I’m  asking  you  to  betray  our  country.  I’m  asking  you  to  commit  sedition.  I  am  placing  you  in  an  environment  that  will  require  you  to  harden  and  turn  into  a  darker  version  of  yourself.  Nothing  good  will  come  from  this  and  I  don’t  want  you  to  hate  me  one  day.”</p>
<p>More  silence.</p>
<p>Silence  until  Steve  looked  up  at  you,  because  you  wanted  him  to  say  everything,  to  get  it  all  off  that  broad  chest  of  his.</p>
<p>Only  then  did  you  say  anything.</p>
<p>Only  when  you  were  certain  he’d  said  what  he  needed  to  say,  did  you  tell  him  the  truth  of  the  matter.  While  touching,  his  concern  was  a  smidge  late.</p>
<p>“Steve,”  you  began,  looking  where  you  thought  his  eyes  would  be  in  the  dark  of  his  truck  cab,  in  the  closed  dark  garage,  a  ray  of  streetlight  through  a  window  over  on  the  wall  the  only  source  of  light.  “As  touched  as  I  am.  Hydra  took  those  choices  from  me  a  long  time  ago.  Long  before  I  met  you.”</p>
<p>Silence  stretched  throughout  the  interior,  making  your  gut  twist  even  more.</p>
<p>“Nothing  would  make  me  happier  then  to  be  by  your  side,  day  in  and  out,  fucking  shit  up  for  Hydra.  I’ll  do  and  become  whatever  it  takes  to  keep  you  and  Peter  safe.”  And  it  was  true,  you  would,  you  knew  you  would  because  you  had  in  the  past.  If  you  had  done  it  for  Peter,  you  sure  as  hell  would  do  it  for  Steve.  </p>
<p>In  the  darkness,  you  heard  a  noise  come  from  Steve.  A  noise  you  knew  well.  A  noise  that  needed  convincing.  A  noise  that  sent  you  forward  across  the  seat.  A  noise  that  had  you  pushing  up  the  console  divider  between  the  two  of  you,  so  you  could,  with  most  care,  lift  your  leg  up  and  climb  onto  Steve’s  lap.</p>
<p>Another  noise  began,  a  noise  that  you  knew  would  be  him  telling  you  no,  telling  you  that  there  would  be  no  funny  business.  A  noise  declaring  you  unfit  for  the  utmost  tenderness  leading  up  to,  but  never  fully  entering  the  territory  of,  sexual  intercourse.  And  that  was  not  what  you  wanted  to  hear.  Nor  was  it  what  Steve  needed  in  that  second,  in  his  truck,  after  sharing  those  words  with  one  another.  </p>
<p>“Tell  me  the  oath  Steve,”  you  requested  to  distract.</p>
<p>He  was  so  big,  so  soft  and  hard  at  the  same  time,  endlessly  hot  to  the  touch  no  matter  what  or  when.  As  your  hands  searched  the  front  of  him  to  find  his  tie  and  loosen  it,  he  tried  to  ask  you  something,  you  could  tell  just  by  his  tone.  Leading  you  to  put  your  forehead  against  his,  loosen  his  tie  enough  to  slip  it  from  his  collar  and  butterfly  your  lips  over  his  in  a  talking  kiss.  “Let  me  hear  the  words.  Let  me  hear  them  and  have  something  that  is  ours  to  think  of  tomorrow,  when  I  hear  them  for  real.”</p>
<p>Buttons  on  his  shirt  began  to  pop  open  beneath  your  skilled  hands,  even  in  the  dark.</p>
<p>There  was  a  soreness  in  your  hands  at  the  movement,  but  nothing  that  would  stop  you  in  your  pursuit  of  undressing  Steve.  No.  Nowhere  even  close.</p>
<p>“We  can’t  do  this  now,”  he  countered  against  your  cheek  when  you  tried  to  kiss  him.  “You’re  hurt.  You  still  have  stitches.  You’re  covered  in  bruises.”</p>
<p>Words  you’d  heard  yesterday  and  that  very  morning.</p>
<p>Button  after  button  popped  open.</p>
<p>Steve  may  not  have  stopped  you,  he  also  did  not  help  you.</p>
<p>“We’ll  do  it  in  the  dark,”  was  your  counter  suggestion.  “Unless  you  absolutely  refuse.  I’ll  just  use  a  toy  again.  Which  I  really  don’t  want  to  do.  I  want  you  and  I  know  you  want  me  too,  I  can  feel  you  against  my  thigh.”  To  drive  that  home,  you  sank  a  hand  down  to  curl  over  the  hard  bulge  in  his  slacks  that  pressed  incessantly  against  the  inside  of  your  hip.</p>
<p>A  groan,  a  strangled  pained  noise  escaped  from  him.  Leading  you  to  chain  kisses  along  his  jaw,  his  throat  and  pulse,  over  feverish  skin  that  tasted  like  him  and  faintly  of  his  cologne.  Not  quite  smooth  after  shaving  that  morning,  so  long  ago  for  someone  with  Erskine’s  Serum  in  their  veins.  “Don’t  pretend  like  you  don’t  need  this  too.  I’ll  guide  you.  I  promise  I’ll  tell  you  if  I  need  you  to  stop  or  slow  down.”</p>
<p>His  pulse  fluttered  beneath  your  wet  tongue.  </p>
<p>Against  your  thighs,  his  own  rolled  in  response  to  your  words,  your  stimulation.  His  erection  even  kicked  against  you.</p>
<p>Furthering  your  quest  to  undress  him.  </p>
<p>The  white  undershirt  tucked  into  his  slacks  was  yanked  up  from  his  belted  waistband.  “Give  it  to  me  Steve.  Please…I  need  to  feel  your  mouth  on  me.  Let  me  have  your  dick  for  a  while.  It  feels  so  good  and  it’s  been  forever  since  you  came  inside  me.  Jacking  off  in  the  shower,  when  you  think  I  can’t  hear  you  isn’t  the  same  as  being  in  me.  We  both  know  what  the  serum  does  to  you.  Withholding  from  me  now,  it’s  only  punishing  the  two  of  us  for  no  good  reason.”</p>
<p>Another  roll  of  his  hips  had  you  suspecting  you  may  have  convinced  him.</p>
<p>A  profanity  followed  by  your  name  solidified  it.</p>
<p>“Take  off  your  jacket  and  shirt,”  you  encouraged,  your  hands  finding  the  buttons  on  his  dress  shirt  covering  you.  “I  wanna  feel  all  of  you.”  </p>
<p>Especially  if  you  couldn’t  see  him,  you  really  wanted  to  feel  him.</p>
<p>In  what  felt  like  forever,  your  own  shirt  took  ages  to  come  off.  Button  by  button  had  to  be  popped  and  then  you  had  to  slip  it  off  your  shoulders,  toss  it  aside.  Followed  by  your  bra.  Reaching  behind  you  was  a  feat.  What  with  all  that  bruising  that  was  still  coming  up,  going  through  the  stages  of  healing  and  such.  However,  you  made  it  work  and  got  it  done,  letting  your  bra  slide  off  and  get  tossed  aside.</p>
<p>Next,  most  importantly,  was  that  handgun  from  your  dresser.  Reaching  down,  you  pulled  that  out  of  your  pocket  and  placed  it  up  on  the  dash,  so  as  not  to  have  any  unfortunate  accidents  during  the  act  of  congress.  Which  you’d  been  begging  for  and  finally  managed  to  have  secured.  Talk  about  a  mood  killer.  </p>
<p>A  few  clunky  noises  followed,  until  it  was  on  the  dashboard.</p>
<p>By  the  time  you  turned  back,  faced  Steve,  all  that  grueling  work  done,  not  a  stitch  of  clothing  covered  him  above  his  navel.  You  knew  this  for  sure,  as  you  placed  your  palms  on  his  chest  to  feel  his  smooth  skin.  So  warm  and  alive  beneath  you.  </p>
<p>“Touch  my  breasts.  My  nipples.  Do  it  like  you  do,  so  it  feels  good.”</p>
<p>In  leaning  forward,  he  pushed  you  back  onto  the  steering  wheel  and  for  a  second,  it  was  almost  uncomfortable.  Almost.  It  almost  was  not  worth  it  till  his  lips  found  one  of  your  breasts.  Followed  by  his  hands  and  his  tongue  and  god  that  tongue.</p>
<p>In  the  dark  of  the  truck  with  your  hands  over  his  shoulders,  your  body  felt  alive,  felt  as  if  it  were  coming  out  of  a  long  sleep.</p>
<p>Any  hesitation  on  his  part  seemed  to  go  the  way  of  the  dodo  when  he  took  a  nipple  between  his  lips.  That  skilled  wet  tongue  you  were  so  incredibly  fond  of  played  with  your  piercing.  </p>
<p>A  bare  arm  wrapped  around  your  waist,  a  soft  dusting  of  hair  on  his  arm  tickled  the  small  of  your  back.  Relaxing,  your  hips  loosened,  allowing  you  to  sink  down  on  him.  Letting  you  really  feel  his  other  hand  come  up  to  palm  your  other  breast.  Deeply  he  continued  to  suck  on  your  aching  nipple.  Almost  roughly  his  tongue  twisted  the  gold  bar  set  in  your  sensitive  nub,  that  was  becoming  less  and  less  soft.</p>
<p>“God  Steve…”  your  voice  dropped,  “…feels  so  good.  Always  feels  so  good  when  you  do  that.”  Both  your  hands  curled  up  over  the  back  of  his  neck,  pulled  him  closer  to  you,  against  your  breast,  as  if  you  could  make  it  feel  even  better.</p>
<p>Taking  on  a  mind  of  their  own,  your  hips  moved  against  him.  Your  lower  body  seeking  out  a  release  that  had  been  far  from  totally  satisfying  that  morning,  when  he’d  been  out  running  with  Bucky.</p>
<p>Feelings  of  hot  pleasure  came  from  his  mouth,  his  hand,  from  what  he  did  to  your  nipples.  Beneath  his  fingers  your  hardened  pert  flesh  ached  from  his  twisting,  pulling,  pinching…his  massaging  of  your  breast,  stroking  and  cupping.</p>
<p>To  be  honest,  you  could  have  been  happy  just  letting  him  suck  on  you  and  play  with  your  nipples  all  goddamn  night.  Maybe  one  day  you  would?</p>
<p>“Ok  Steve…Steve…”</p>
<p>His  head  came  up,  nipple  popping  out  of  his  sinful  mouth  and  slippery  from  the  saliva  that  covered  it.  </p>
<p>Having  had  a  chance  to  get  used  to  the  dark,  you  could  see  his  eyes  and  the  concern  in  them.  “What?  Are  you  ok?  Was  I  too  rough?”</p>
<p>You  kissed  him.  Sorta.</p>
<p>You  opened  your  mouth  against  his  and  licked  him,  breathed  against  him  and  pled,  “Pull  your  pants  down.  I  need  your  dick.  I  need  it  now.  Like,  right  now.”</p>
<p>All  things  considered,  it  was  easier  said  than  done.</p>
<p>Much  wiggling  came  from  Steve,  many  grunts,  numerous  shifts  and  shimmies.</p>
<p>You  had  it  far  more  difficult.  To  get  your  pants  down  or  off,  you  had  to  shift  off  his  lap  in  the  end  and  unbutton,  unzip,  push  and  then  kick  off  your  heels.  Shove  the  denim  down  till  you  could  kick  it  free.  All  of  which  seemed  to  have  been  so  much  easier  when  you  were  a  teenager.  When  on  earth  had  this  become  an  impossible  task?</p>
<p>“Where  do  you  want  it  first?”</p>
<p>First?</p>
<p>Such  a  telling  choice  of  words  filled  your  heart  with  all  kinds  of  wonderful  things.  First.  As  if  implying  that  there  would  be  a  second,  or  more.  </p>
<p>A  strong  arm  came  around  your  waist,  pulled  you  back  up  on  his  lap,  seating  you  over  his  groin  on  bare  powerful  thighs.</p>
<p>“My  pussy  first  please.  Put  it  in.  Shit  just  do  it.  That  vibrator  didn’t  fit  in  me  as  good  as  you…”  </p>
<p>Fingers  bigger  and  rougher  than  yours  slipped  between  your  thighs  to  feel  you,  part  your  lips.  A  hiss  came  from  you,  as  one  slipped  into  your  more  than  wet  enough  hole.  Your  head  fell  back  on  Steve’s  shoulder,  your  bare  back  rested  against  his  chest  and  he  spread  your  legs  wide  with  his  hips,  holding  them  open  with  his  knees.  Exposing  you  almost  obscenely  in  the  darkness.</p>
<p>“Quit  teasing  me  and  do  it…”</p>
<p>Maybe  you  had  whined  just  a  little.  Who  could  blame  you?</p>
<p>Even  in  the  dark,  splayed  out  on  his  front  with  one  hand  flung  over  your  shoulder,  up  in  Steve’s  hair,  you  knew  the  second  his  tip  pressed  up  against  you.  Your  body  reacted  instantly  to  his,  as  if  recognizing  him  and  what  was  about  to  happen.  In  response  your  back  curved…your  hips  widened…your  pelvis  tilted  down.</p>
<p>Steve’s  rounded  tip  slipped  through  your  wet  lips,  pressed  against  you,  searched  and  slipped  until  finding  your  slit  and…an  exhale  like  a  punch  came  from  you.</p>
<p>Thick.  Hard.  </p>
<p>Fuck  was  he  thick.</p>
<p>Gasping  came  from  you.  Your  fingers  sank  deeper  into  his  hair  in  response  to  his  hand  grabbing  your  tit,  his  fingers  sinking  onto  your  wet  pussy  to  push  you  down  on  his  member.</p>
<p>“Feel  good  doll?”</p>
<p>No  words  came  out.  Only  gaspy  nods,  panting  noises  that  could  have  meant  anything.</p>
<p>“Nothing’ll  ever  feel  this  good.  No  toy  can  fill  you  like  this,”  he  whispered  against  the  side  of  your  head,  bottoming  out  with  a  pop  of  his  pelvis  and  a  shriek  from  you.  “Is  this  what  you  wanted?”</p>
<p>More  nodding,  more  jerks  of  your  head  as  your  thighs  shook,  in  your  body’s  attempt  to  get  acclimated  to  him.  </p>
<p>Fingertips  twisted  your  piercing,  pulled  wickedly.  Making  you  cry  out  against  his  neck,  lick  the  skin  of  his  pulse  in  a  carnal  response  that  you  couldn’t  explain,  as  your  body  took  what  he  gave.  As  your  body  took  his  pumps,  up  into  your  walls,  that  somehow  felt  snugger  than  ever.  </p>
<p>Guttural  words  came  from  you.  “Let  me  hear  it…fuck  Steve,  harder,  I  want  to  feel  you  tomorrow  when  I’m  standing  there,  still  wet,  leaking  your  jizz  into  my  panties.  Tell  me  the  words  and  make  me  come.”</p>
<p>Wet  sounds  came  from  down  between  your  legs  as  his  thrusts  up  became  rougher,  wet  sucking  sounds  started  from  your  leaking  cunt  getting  pounded  by  him.  Truth  be  told,  he  was  hitting  you  a  bit  hard  for  the  angle  and  how  long  it’d  been  and  the  fact  this  was  the  first  time  he’d  appropriately  fucked  you  since  your  attack.  But  god  if  it  didn’t  feel  amazing.</p>
<p>It  was  wild  and  frantic  and  everything.</p>
<p>His  hand  on  your  mound  was  pushing  you  down  on  him  with  every  upward  pump  from  him,  hitting  you  just  right,  nailing  you  in  that  perfect  spot  that  made  you  see  stars  each  time.  His  grip  on  your  nipple  was  too  tight.  Each  bottoming  out  in  you  was  an  explosion,  or  absolute  pleasure  ringed  with  sharp  pain.  His  meat  slammed  against  your  g-spot  each  time  in  and  out,  he  was  rolling  your  clit  between  his  fingers  and  slamming  into  your  cervix  every  single  time.  </p>
<p>This  was  what  you  wanted,  what  you  needed.  A  sticky,  messy,  desperate,  hungry  combining  of  your  bodies.</p>
<p>“I,  Mrs.  Steven  Grant  Rogers…”  your  husband  seethed  as  he  threw  his  pelvis  up  into  yours,  smacking  lewdly  against  your  ass  each  time,  each  time  getting  wetter  as  more  cum  slid  from  you.  “…do  solemnly  affirm…that  I  will  support  and  defend  the  Constitution…of  the  United  States  of  Hydra…shit  you’re  so  damn  tight,  you’re  squeezing  me  so  hard…you  ok?”</p>
<p>Were  you  ok?</p>
<p>You  were  better  than  ok.</p>
<p>“Don’t  stop…don’t  stop…don’t  stop…”  you  plead,  begged,  whined,  your  other  hand  sinking  down  to  cover  his,  hold  his  hand  that  forced  your  cunt  down  onto  his  cock  each  and  every  time,  because  god  forbid  he  ever  lift  it.  You’d  never  ever  come  again  like  this,  you’d  never  come  again  in  your  life  if  you  didn’t  hold  his  hand  down.  </p>
<p>Steve  kissed  your  temple.</p>
<p>Steve  licked  your  cheek  and  drug  his  tongue  along  your  skin,  catching  a  salty  bead  of  sweat.</p>
<p>Moving,  shifting,  Steve   adjusted  his  spot  on  the  driver’s  seat,  slipping  before  from  all  the  cum  he’d  pushed  out  of  you.  He  found  a  good  spot  and  began  to  go  harder,  spurred  on  by  this  new  placement.  Remembering  where  he’d  left  off,  he  wanted  to  give  you  this,  hell,  he  wanted  this  memory  seared  in  there,  not  the  one  he’d  make  tomorrow.  </p>
<p>“Against  all  enemies…”  <em>pump</em>  “…foreign  and  domestic…”  another  hard  pump,  a  twisting  of  your  nipple  as  his  vision  began  to  dot,  sweat  began  to  run  down  along  his  spine.  </p>
<p>“That  I  will  bear  true  faith  and  allegiance…”  God  did  you  feel  good,  you  were  close,  he  could  tell  by  how  your  walls  clenched  around  him,  squeezed  him.  Making  him  lick  your  damp  cheek  for  no  other  purpose  than  he  wanted  to  taste  more  of  you.  </p>
<p>“…to  the  same…that  I  take  this  obligation  freely,  without  any  mental  reservation…”  <em>pump,  thrust,</em>  grunting  from  Steve,  a  whiney  breathy  cry  from  you.  Your  fingers  in  his  hair  were  so  tight  it  hurt,  hurt  so  good.  “Close  babe?  We’re  almost  done,  almost  there…”</p>
<p>Nodding  from  you,  humping  your  hips  and  arching  your  back  to  the  point  you  were  bowed  back,  so  you  could  take  more  of  him,  more  and  more.  Til  it  was  just  you  both  with  no  distinction  between  you  were  joined.</p>
<p>And  then  you  came,  breaking,  shattering,  clenching  around  him  with  a  scream.  Your  body  violently  contracting  around  him  like  a  vice.  Your  side  hurt  and  your  hands  hurt  and  your  chest  hurt  and  you  could  not  have  cared  less.  Never  had  you  ever  climaxed  that  hard  in  your  life.  It  had  to  have  been  the  hardest.  You  could  feel  him  pound  away  up  into  you  as  he  came  and  emptied  himself,  as  he  furthered  your  orgasm.  </p>
<p>Floating,  you  were  floating  for  a  second.</p>
<p>He  was  smashing  up  into  you,  rubbing  against  you,  coming  and  hissing  nonsense  against  your  hair  as  he  exploded  in  your  body,  leaving  more  than  just  his  semen  deep  up  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>Were  you  breathing?  Your  lungs  sucked  in  the  air.  </p>
<p>Slippery  and  wet  from  sweat  and  cum,  you  stuck  to  him  and  were  slick  against  his  own  wet  body.</p>
<p>“Or  purpose  of  evasion,”  he  gasped,  fingers  shaking  around  your  nipple  and  that  piercing  tightly,  still  greedy,  always  hungry.  “And  that  I  will  well  and  faithfully  discharge…the  duties  of  the  office…on  which  I  am  about  to  enter.”  Steve  finished,  his  dick  angrily  throbbed  as  it  pushed  out  the  last  spurts  of  his  cum.  Deep  within  your  pussy  that  milked  him,  would  be  clenching  him  for  a  while  longer  after  what  he’d  done,  what  you’d  begged  for  so  rightfully.  “So  help  me  God.” </p>
<p>How  could  he  have  ever  doubted  you?  Especially  when  you  felt  this  good.</p>
<p>Chest  rising  and  falling  in  sync  with  his,  you  turned  your  head  to  rest  your  temple  against  his  sweaty  one.  </p>
<p>Again,  you  wanted  to  hear  it  again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:::Hello friendly readers!!  I have a **Content Warning** for you!! This chapter has blood and the aftermath of a physical attack, along with serious bodily harm. Also, all things considered with current events, mentions are made at the beginning of this chapter of Reader getting initiated into Hydra. I rewrote a good bit of it, as it just didn't feel right to have it in there currently. But it is still mentioned in detail. And, while we're at it, there is also a warning for dealing with the aftereffects of a attack here too.:::</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taking  your  oath  of  loyalty  to  Hydra  placed  Steve  squarely  in  an  even  lower  circle  of  hell  than  he  could  have  ever  imagined  visiting.  And  he  was  already  pretty  convinced  he  was  down  in  one  of  the  lower  circles.  Not  that  it  had  ever  really  bothered  him  previously.</p><p>All  the  bad  things  that  he  did  after  Hydra  took  over,  of  which  there  was  a  lot.  </p><p>None  of  them  compared  to  bringing  his  wife  down  with  him.  Lowering  you  to  what  he’d  become,  even  if  you  wanted  it.  Even  if  you  wished  to  wallow  in  this  filth  beside  him.</p><p>It  wasn’t  right  or  ok.</p><p>He  was  doing  his  damnedest  to  keep  Peter  at  arms-length  and  that  wasn’t  going  too  well  either.  </p><p>Bucky,  well,  he  didn’t  really  seem  to  care  what  circle  of  hell  he  was  in.  Compared  to  where  he  had  previously  been,  he  seemed  to  be  living  his  best  life.  Making  Bucky  not  the  best  measurement  for  comparison.  Any  day  he  wasn’t  being  frozen,  or  electrocuted,  by  his  former  Hydra  Handlers  was  a  great  day  for  him.</p><p>There  was  something  about  looking  his  wife  in  the  eye,  making  her  repeat  after  him  words  that  would  forever  make  her  the  enemy.  Knowing  that  people  who  did  not  know  you  would  think  certain  things,  make  assumptions.  Steve  knew  that  they  did  for  him  and  he  never  cared,  he  was  past  caring.  But  this  just  sat  wrong  in  him.  It  festered.</p><p>Looking  deep  into  your  eyes  as  he  had  you  recite  the  oath,  word  for  word,  as  you  trembled  like  a  leaf  before  him  was  a  new  and  fresh  hell.</p><p>Only  thinking  about  the  previous  night  in  his  truck  got  him  through.  </p><p>Remembering  the  words  he’d  said  to  you,  buried  so  deep  inside  of  you,  that  had  made  it  bearable.  You  always  made  the  worst  things  bearable.  Even  when  the  two  of  you  fought  like  cats  and  dogs,  you  made  things  ok.</p><p>Sometimes  you  really  did  make  him  see  red.  </p><p>Sometimes  you  drove  him  to  the  brink  of  wanting  to  kill  someone.</p><p>Like  then.</p><p>The  very  exact  second  that  Steve  stepped  out  of  the  elevator,  in  the  conference  center  to  pick  you  up  on  the  way  to  the  parking  garage.  A  place  that  he  did  not  want  you  venturing  alone.  Not  when  Colonel  Zemo  was  working  in  the  building.  That  man  was  a  goddamn  menace  and  as  soon  as  Bucky  got  a  biological  sample,  tested  it  and  confirmed  it,  Steve  was  going  to  make  him  disappear.</p><p>Although  at  this  rate,  maybe  sooner.</p><p>Stepping  out  of  the  elevator  among  a  crush  of  people  as  usual,  as  the  conference  center  only  had  a  few  and  they  were  not  meant  for  so  many  people,  every  day,  coming  and  going  during  office  hours.  Steve  did  not  anticipate  the  sight  that  beheld  him  over  by  the  information  desk  that  now  had  Hydra  personnel  working  there,  instead  of  convention  center  staff.</p><p>It  was  a  massive  space  with  big  glass  doors  and  walls  looking  out  over  the  city  street.  Meant  to  be  the  open  area  visitors  stepped  in  for  conferences  and  such.</p><p>There,  by  the  desk,  you  stood.</p><p>Dressed  in  your  pretty  blood  red  dress  with  a  flared  skirt,  long  sleeves  and  a  shiny  black  Hydra  pin  on  your  chest.  You  elected  to  wear  red  instead  of  black  and  you  looked  stunning,  utterly  beautiful.  In  your  delicate  hands  was  your  purse.  Sure,  you  no  longer  had  on  your  wedding  band.  Steve  was  on  the  hunt  for  a  new  one.  A  better  one.  One  that  he  had  picked  out  this  time  that  suited  you  and  was  an  actual  expression  about  how  he  felt  about  you.</p><p>Not  that  he  was  able  to  ponder  his  feelings  over  you  too  long.</p><p>Not  when  he  saw  who  you  were  standing  next  to,  chatting  with,  because  the  very  sight  of  you  next  to  Colonel  Helmut  Zemo  was  enough  to  make  him  rethink  all  thoughts  about  homicide  in  the  open,  in  front  of  witnesses,  at  the  workplace.</p><p>You  were  just  standing  there  and  talking  to  the  man  who  had  completely  brutalized  you,  as  if  you  had  no  idea  who  he  was  and  in  that  very  second,  Steve  understood  Peter’s  words.  Peter  had  told  him  you  didn’t  recognize  Zemo  in  any  of  the  pictures.  Not  even  a  hint  of  anything  close  to  recognition.  Then  he’d  been  a  bit  doubtful.  Now  that  doubt  was  gone.</p><p>You  looked  sincerely  interested  in  whatever  Zemo  was  telling  you  and  considering  beneath  all  that  makeup  you  wore,  you  were  still  covered  with  bruises  from  him.  Steve’s  blood  boiled.  You  weren’t  that  good  of  an  actress.</p><p>Tempering  down  his  urge  to  kill.</p><p>Steve  set  his  teeth  and  walked  with  expediency  over  your  way,  among  the  herd  of  employees  doing  their  best  to  get  out  of  there  and  beat  traffic.</p><p>Traffic  was  the  very  least  of  Steve’s  concerns.</p><p>Maybe  Bucky  was  right?  </p><p>He  and  Bucky  disagreed  on  telling  you  their  suspicions.  Bucky  thought  you  should  know  since  you  were  bound  to  bump  into  Zemo,  or  other  Sokovians  and  who  knew  if  Zemo  had  help,  or  got  a  Sokovian  to  lure  you  away?  Bucky  thought  you  had  a  right  to  know.  Even  if  they  were  wrong  in  their  suspicions.</p><p>Steve  wanted  to  wait.  Steve  wanted  to  be  positive.  Steve  wanted  to  protect  you.  You  were  so  so  so  close  to  never  coming  home  to  him  again.  Steve  wanted  you  to  heal  and  not  be  afraid  at  work,  and  god  help  him,  if  you  had  some  sort  of  a  snap  and  broke  in  finding  out  who  your  attacker  was…he’d  never  forgive  himself.  Ever.  He  had  to  protect  you.  He  had  to  keep  you  safe,  both  physically  and  mentally.  He’d  failed  once  and  this  happened.  He  would  not  fail  again.</p><p>Steve  should  have  assumed  you  were  a  potential  victim.  He  should  have  anticipated  that  you  were  in  danger.</p><p>That  was  not  a  mistake  he’d  make  again.</p><p>Nearing  closer,  he  placed  a  hand  on  your  back  in  what  could  have  been  call  a  proprietary  sort  of  way.  Coming  in  on  the  tail  end  of  Zemo  explaining  some  sort  of  pastry  that  his  grandmother  made,  that  he’d  found  an  almost  exact  replica  of  at  a  bakery  nearby.</p><p>Harmless  chatter.    </p><p>Steve  considered  how  easy  it  would  be  for  him  to  kill  Zemo,  right  then  and  there.</p><p>Quickly  finishing  up,  the  Sokovian  greeted  Steve  with  a  polite  nod  and  hint  of  a  smile.  “Director  Rogers.  You  will  have  to  tell  me  if  you  and  your  lovely  wife  go  to  the  bakery.  As  I  told  her,  everything  in  there  tastes  like  home.” </p><p>Healing  scratches  were  noticeable  on  his  face.  Word  around  the  office  was  he’d  had  a  car  accident,  his  face  hitting  the  window  and  breaking  it.</p><p>An  elbow  to  his  throat  would  do  it.</p><p>Steve  could  kill  him  with  one  blow.  Crush  his  windpipe  and  esophagus,  possibly  rupture  an  artery  and  destroy  the  spine.  It  would be  so  easy  and  so  rewarding.</p><p>This  man  had  hurt  you.  This  man  had  put  his  hands  on  you,  attempted  to  abduct  you,  beaten  you.</p><p>And  now  Steve  had  painted  an  even  bigger  target  on  you  that  morning,  officially  making  you  a  member  of  Hydra.  Already  he  was  regretting  everything.  Absolutely  everything.  What  the  hell  kind  of  a  husband  was  he?</p><p>“Well  Colonel  Zemo,  you  may  be  going  home  before  you  know  it.”  Was  the  most  civil  thing  that  Steve  could  manage  to  say  out  loud.  Though  he  made  very  sure  that  everything  in  his  stare  was  far  from  it.  To  such  a  degree  that  the  Sokovian  military  officer  took  a  step  back.  Only  one  step,  but  it  was  a  step.  A  retreat.</p><p>Helmut’s  serene  demeanor  never  faltered.  His  dark  hair  parted  to  one  side,  so  unassuming,  not  intimidating  at  all.  Damp  by  the  looks  of  it.  Seeming  downright  harmless  really.  And  then  he  offhandedly  replied  to  Steve.  “Sadly,  I  will  not  be  seeing  my  homeland  anytime  soon.  Unless  of  course  some  tragedy  or  accident  were  to  befall  me.”</p><p>You  made  noises  totally  writing  that  idea  off.</p><p>You  were  completely  unaware  of  the  look  that  Steve  sent  Zemo.</p><p>Having  no  idea  what  was  going  on  between  the  two  men,  Steve  gave  your  back  a  nudge  to  get  you  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  exit.  “Watch  yourself  Zemo.  Hydra  has  no  shortage  of  pine  boxes  around  here.”</p><p>You  had  absolutely  no  idea  why  on  earth  Steve  told  Helmut  that  either.  </p><p>In  your  opinion,  it  was  kinda  threatening.</p><p>In  your  entire  time  knowing  Steve,  he  didn’t  go  around  threatening  people.  That  wasn’t  exactly  his  style.  He  was  more  likely  to  keep  quiet  and  then  go  kill  someone  at  a  later  time. </p><p>Needless  to  say,  you  were  flummoxed.</p><p>Steve  hadn’t  exactly  been  in  the  best  mood  that  day.  Which  neither  had  you.  It’d  been  a  weird  day.  What  with  your  oath  taking  that  morning  and  the  big  Hydra  Luncheon  to  celebrate  its  newest  party  members.  Steve  had  kept  up  a  good  front.  He  seemed  fine  when  you  sat  in  on  a  few  of  his  meetings,  meetings  you’d  now  be  attending  for  your  new  position.  In  the  times  he  came  by  your  office  to  check  on  you,  down  the  hall  three  doors  from  his  own,  nothing  seemed  to  be  out  of  the  ordinary.</p><p>He’d  managed  to  look  the  part  of  a  proud  Hydra  Official  when  having  you  recite  that  damned  oath,  when  he  pinned  the  black  octopus  on  your  dress  and  when  he  pressed  a  chaste  kiss  to  your  temple  upon  completing  the  deed.</p><p>This  though,  this  sudden  change  was  unusual.</p><p>Steve  rarely  was  like  this,  not  since…not  since  the  early  years  of  your  marriage  and  it  took  you  by  surprise.</p><p>It  silenced  you  in  its  sudden  arrival,  in  its  harshness.</p><p>Finally,  he  led  you  away  from  the  Sokovian,  who’d  come  up  to  you  to  congratulate  you  and  was  nothing  but  weirdly  polite  as  you  did  you  best  to  put  your  finger  on  what  was  so  familiar  about  Helmut.  Other  than  being  one  of  the  pictures  Peter  had  showed  you.  You  had  to  focus  on  not  tripping  when  Steve  practically  shoved  you  towards  the  garage  escalator.  Which  he  pushed  you  down.  </p><p>It  took  all  your  focus  to  hurry  down  them  in  your  heels.</p><p>When  you  turned  your  head  to  snap  back  at  him,  you  could  see  from  the  stony  expression  on  his  face,  it  was  best  if  you  did  not.  Causing  a  scene  surrounded  by  Hydra  peeps  and  coworkers  was  not  optimal.</p><p>So  you  kept  your  mouth  shut.  Threw  out  “Excuse  us,”  left  and  right,  like  a  flower  girl  hurling  flower  petals  at  a  wedding  and  wondered  what  on  earth  had  crawled  up  his  ass.  Because  this  was  not  normal.  </p><p>Steve  didn’t  get  like  this  without  some  prodding.</p><p>His  haste  did  not  slow  out  in  the  garage.</p><p>Thankfully  the  Directors  parking  spot  was  marked  and  close.  Meaning  you  didn’t  have  to  halfway  jog  to  his  truck,  in  your  current  footwear.  Or  in  the  creepy  garage  that  suddenly  you  hardly  noticed.</p><p>Loudly  the  passenger  door  groaned  under  his  physical  strength.  The  entire  vehicle  shifted  from  his  powerful  anger.  </p><p>It  rolled  off  him.</p><p>Being  so  close  when  he  helped  you  up,  you  could  feel  him  tremble.  His  jaw  was  tight.  His  mouth  a  firm  line.</p><p>You  didn’t  dare  say  a  word.</p><p>Was  he  mad  at  you?  What  could  you  have  done?</p><p>The  slamming  of  your  door  when  you  were  safely  buckled  in  answered  your  internal  question.  It  slammed  so  hard  you  yelped  out.  In  slightly  frightened  surprise,  your  heart  pounded,  your  body  heated  up  as  if  a  fire  burned  inside  of  you.</p><p>Oh  yes.  He  was  mad  at  you.</p><p>Desperately  you  scoured  your  brain  to  think  up  every  possible  thing  you’d  done  that  could  have  upset  him.  Every  encounter  you’d  had  with  him,  accounted  for  every  second  of  your  day  he  was  in  to  try  and  quickly  solve  this  mystery. </p><p>As  you  did  not  dare  speak  till  you  figured  it  out.</p><p>No,  you  would  not!</p><p>Mostly  because,  for  the  life  of  you,  you  could  not  remember  doing  anything  to  warrant  such  behavior  from  your  husband.  And  yeah,  you  knew  you  were  something  of  a  handful.  You  were  well  aware  that  you  could  rub  him  the  wrong  way  and  at  times,  yes…you  did  take  far  too  much  pleasure  in  pushing  Steve’s  buttons.  Ok,  maybe  not  pushing  his  buttons  but  tapdancing  all  over  his  buttons.  </p><p>This  was  beginning  to  really  bother  you.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Absolute  silence  stretched  between  the  two  of  you  on  the  way  out  of  the  underground  parking  garage  and  up  onto  the  streets  of  DC.</p><p>And  then  there  it  was.</p><p>It  hit  you  three  lights  from  the  turn  off  that  would  lead  into  your  neighborhood.  </p><p>Steve  slowed  down  to  stop  for  a  red  light.  One  hand  gripping  the  steering  wheel  so  tightly  it  was  white.</p><p>Colonel  Zemo.</p><p>You’d  been  talking  to  Helmut  when  Steve  came  over  and  started  acting  weird.</p><p>Was  Steve  jealous?</p><p>No,  Steve  wasn’t  jealous.</p><p>You  risked  a  look  over  at  Steve.  Steve  so  lost  in  his  simmering  anger  he  hardly  noticed.  Unless  he  was  refusing  to  look  at  you?  Was  he  refusing  to  look  at  you?  A  horrific  thought  came  to  you.  What  if  Steve  thought  you  were  cheating  on  him  with  that  odd  Sokovian  man?</p><p>Things  had  been  changing  between  the  two  of  you.  Clearly  something  was  growing,  even  you  would  admit  that  you  had  feelings  for  your  husband,  as  horrific  as  that  sounded.  What  if  he  thought  you  were  having  an  affair?  At  times  he  could  be  possessive  and  needy,  and  your  hot  mess  of  a  self  wasn’t  entirely  bothered  by  it.  What  that  said  about  you  didn’t  sit  well  but  was  a  topic  to  explore  another  time.  Cataloguing  yours  and  Steve  numerous  personal  toxic  traits  was  a  whole  issue  that  would  require  more  thought  than  you  could  spare,  not  when  he  was  already  requiring  all  of  your  attention.  Like  all  of  it.</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>Nothing.  Nada.</p><p>Either  he  was  ignoring  you,  or  he  was  so  pissed  off  he  was  up  in  his  head  something  fierce.</p><p>Sighing  out  your  nose.  You  reached  over  to  put  your  hand  on  his  thigh.  It  made  him  tear  his  eyes  off  traffic  and  look  at  you.  Wordless.  Eyebrows  slightly  elevated  in  an  unasked  question.</p><p>Answering  your  own  that  he  was  ignoring  you.  He  was  not.</p><p>“You  know  I  would  never  cheat  on  you.  Right?”</p><p>Confused  didn’t  even  begin  to  cover  the  look  you  got  in  return.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Giving  his  solid  thigh  what  you  hoped  was  a  comforting  squeeze,  you  elaborated.  “I  don’t  even  know  that  guy.  He  came  up  to  me  and  started  talking  right  before  you  came  downstairs.  You  have  absolutely  nothing  to  worry  about.  He’s  not  even  my  type.”</p><p>Apparently,  your  type  was  ninety  something  year  old  World  War  Two  veterans  with  piss  and  vinegar  running  through  their  veins.  Blonds  too.  Which  was  weird.  You’d  never  been  big  on  blonds.  Who  knew?  Clearly  one  more  topic  to  ponder  at  that  later  date.</p><p>An  annoyed  sigh  came  from  Steve.</p><p>Followed  by  his  gaze  returning  back  to  traffic.  “Doll,  I  know  you  aren’t  engaged  in  extramarital  relations  with  anyone.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>His  eyes  were  back  on  traffic.</p><p>Obviously  he  thought  that  was  the  end  of  it.</p><p>Withdrawing  your  hand,  you  turned  a  little  in  your  seat  to  face  him  more.  “Ok.  What’s  your  problem  then?  You’re  being  a  bigger  asshole  than  usual.”</p><p>Not  surprisingly,  that  earned  you  another  look,  but  this  one  had  genuine  surprise  on  it.</p><p>Good.  You  had  his  attention.  “You  dragged  me  away  from  Colonel  What’s-his-face,  shoved  me  down  the  escalator  and  nearly  made  me  trip  a  couple  times  like  the  damn  building  was  on  fire.  Then  you  all  but  broke  the  damn  door  after  practically  hurling  me  in  your  truck.  Not  to  mention  the  silent  treatment.  Which  has  been  a  total  blast.  So  don’t  even  try  to  tell  me  nothing’s  wrong  homeboy.”</p><p>He  was  thinking.</p><p>You  could  see  it  in  his  eyes  and  boy  did  that  ever  piss  you  off.  Leading  you  to  shriek  at  him  hard,  loud  enough  you  made  your  tender  side  hurt.  </p><p>“<em>Steve,  so  help  me  I  swear</em>!”</p><p>Of  course  that  got  him  talking.</p><p>“Would  you  calm  down?  For  Christ’s  sake.  Stop  screaming,  you  know  you’re  even  louder  with  my  hearing.”</p><p>The  light  turned  green  and  on  you  went,  at  a  slightly  lower  decibel.  “Well  you  don’t  seem  to  be  getting  the  point  any  other  way.  If  you’re  going  to  keep  acting  like  I’m  not  even  here,  I  might  as  well  walk  home.”</p><p>That  earned  you  a  response  as  the  truck  began  to  roll  forward  and  slowly  accelerate.  “You’re  not  walking  home.  I’m  just  thinking  is  all.”  Is  what  he  told  you,  shifting  back  in  his  seat.</p><p>“You’re  full  of  shit,”  you  told  him,  right  before  pointing  at  a  turn  for  a  neighborhood  development.  “Turn  in  here.”</p><p>A  little  bit  of  bass  infused  his  voice.  “You  are  <em>not</em>  walking  home!”</p><p>Not  one  bit  concerned  with  his  bass  yourself.  “Jesus  Steve!  I  know  I’m  not  walking  home  in  these  shoes!”  Once  more  you  gestured  at  the  upcoming  turn.  “Your  friend  Maria  talked  me  into  letting  her  be  my  assistant.  I  need  to  drop  off  some  paperwork  for  her  since  she  never  came  by  my  office  after  lunch.”</p><p>The  look  he  gave  you.</p><p>It  could  have  melted  iron.</p><p>And  that  was  even  before  you  added  for  good  measure.  “Unless  you  want  to  go  home  and  I  can  drive  over  here  on  my  own  afterwards?  Which  I  am  totally  fine  with  at  this  point.”</p><p>Needless  to  say,  Steve  put  on  his  blinker  and  turned  into  the  picturesque  community.</p><p>Not  that  he  was  done  staring  at  you  almost  appraisingly  afterwards.  A  look  was  sent  your  way  once  he  turned  into  the  picture-perfect  neighborhood  that  Maria  Hill  lived  in  with  her  husband.  </p><p>It  was  an  odd  sorta  look.</p><p>Steve  looked  at  you  in  a  way  that  made  you  feel  like  he  was  hiding  something  and  you’d  never  felt  that  way  before.  He’d  never  hid  anything  from  you.  You  were  the  partner  in  your  unholy  union  more  likely  to  be  dishonest.  </p><p>A  critical  gaze  lingered  over  your  face.  Trailed  over  your  cheek  and  slid  down  to  your  throat.</p><p>That  morning  he’d  had  to  run  out  for  more  concealer  for  you.  As  your  bruises  were  a  dark  purplish,  now  taking  on  a  hint  of  greenish  yellow  that  was  hideous  and  taking  up  a  considerable  amount  of  makeup  to  cover.  It’d  taken  you  and  Peter  and  a  YouTube  tutorial  to  almost  hide  them  all.  People  were  still  asking  how  you  were  feeling  after  your  car  accident,  still  making  pained  faces  and  giving  you  words  of  encouragement  on  your  recovery  after  such  a  horrific  accident.</p><p>“What  is  it?  Why  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that?  What’s  wrong  Steve?”</p><p>Something  was  wrong.</p><p>Something  was  definitely  wrong.</p><p>Your  husband  clenched  his  jaw  and  tore  his  gaze  away.  Just  like  he’d  done  that  morning,  when  you  and  Peter  were  in  the  bathroom  applying  layer  after  layer  of  concealer.</p><p>No,  he  didn’t  think  you  were  having  an  affair.  How  stupid  could  you  be?</p><p>Having  now  pegged  exactly  what  his  problem  was,  you  gently  rested  your  arm  against  the  back  of  your  seat  while  Steve  drove  on  through  a  suburban  paradise.  </p><p>All  pretty  brand-new  construction.  Within  the  last  decade  or  so.  One  house  almost  perfectly  matching  the  other,  minus  slight  cosmetic  differences.  All  lawns  were  green.  Yard  décor  kept  to  an  organized  minimum.  Even  the  mailboxes  were  orderly  and  in  a  handful  of  colors,  none  decorated  wildly  and  all  of  the  numbers  were  the  same  metallic  metal  design.</p><p>It  gave  you  the  heebie  geebies.  </p><p>“If  you’re  going  to  keep  looking  at  me  like  that,  I’m  going  to  go  sleep  down  in  the  den  till  all  the  bruising  is  gone.  You’re  making  me  feel  worse  than  I  already  do  about  what  happened.”</p><p>Was  it  a  low  blow?</p><p>Possibly  your  lowest  yet  in  the  duration  of  your  marriage  to  this  infuriating  man.</p><p>However,  when  he  got  like  this…this  far  into  his  head,  his  own  shit  and  guilt,  Steve  was  practically  impossible  to  live  with,  as  opposed  to  his  usual  ray  of  sunshine.  Between  last  night  in  this  very  space  and  that  morning,  his  feelings  were  driving  you  crazy.  If  he’d  been  mad,  it’d  be  one  thing.  This  guilt  though?  That,  no.  It  was  a  big  no.  It  was  pissing  you  off  was  what  it  was  and  if  he  wasn’t  going  to  talk  to  you,  you  had  to  do  something,  or  there  would  be  no  living  with  him  till  you  fully  recovered.</p><p>A  grabbing  of  your  proverbial  stick  to  poke  at  him  seemed  to  be  the  last  resort.  Assuring  him  hadn’t  worked.  Reasoning  with  him  was  bust.</p><p>“What?  No!  Why?  You  have  no  reason  to  feel  bad!”</p><p>Quick  to  anger.  You  could  work  with  that  emotion.  Anger  was  a  huge  plus  in  your  book.</p><p>You  could  get  him  madder  though.</p><p>You  could  get  him  far  more  upset  then  this,  which  was  your  endgame.</p><p>“If  I’d  fought  back  harder  or  not  gone  to  Target,  things  could  have  been  different.”</p><p>Thank  goodness  he  was  driving  slowly  as  that  did  it.  That  was  it.  Steve’s  head  whipped  around  so  fast  you  thought  for  a  second,  he  may  very  well  pull  a  muscle  in  that  thickly  corded  neck.</p><p>On  you  went,  cause  you  could  push  him  more.  He  wasn’t  out  of  his  mind  yet  and  that  was  where  you  wanted  him.  Out  of  his  head.  Here,  with  you.</p><p>“If  this  would  have  happened  when  we  were  first  married,  it  wouldn’t  have  been  so  bad.  I  could  take  a  blow  better  back  then.  What  with  how  often  I  got  my  ass  beat  during  my  reeducation.  So  you  know  what…this  is  kinda  your  fault  too.  If  you’d  knock  me  around  some,  then  maybe  I  would  have  been  able  to  take  it  a  little  bit  better?  Everything  could  have  been  different.”</p><p>And  he  was  there.</p><p>Right  there  with  you.</p><p>Suddenly  in  that  same  headspace  and  exact  moment  as  you.</p><p>Brakes  screeched.  Your  other  hand  slammed  out  to  brace  yourself  on  the  dash  as  Steve  wheeled  around  in  his  seat  to  face  you.  Eyes  a  storm.  Blazing,  on  fire,  dare  you  say.</p><p>“Don’t  you  ever,  <em>ever</em>  say  that  again!  Ever!  Do  not  talk  like  that  again!  No  one,  absolutely  no  one,  should  ever  put  their  hands  on  you.  No  one!”  A  rough  quality  took  to  his  tone  making  it  more  of  a  snarl.  You  couldn’t  have  been  more  pleased.  This  was  better  than  silence,  those  shameful  glances  at  your  neck  and  face.  </p><p>Steve  only  grew  louder.  His  face  grew  redder.</p><p>Without  a  doubt  you’d  hit  gold.</p><p>“Do  you  understand  me?  He  did  this!  No  one  else!  Hel…He  did  this  alone  and  it  is  his  fault,  his  fault  alone!  No  one  else  is  responsible!  There  is  <em>nothing</em>  that  you  did  wrong!”</p><p>A  car  drove  around  Steve’s  truck,  then  another,  you  saw  out  the  driver’s  window  behind  Steve.</p><p>Not  totally  sure  he  was  on  the  absolute  same  page.  You  found  yourself  making  a  doubtful  face.  “Yeah,  but…”</p><p>As  you  expected,  his  hand  gripped  the  steering  wheel  so  hard  something  cracked.</p><p>Another  vehicle  zipped  around  Steve’s  truck.</p><p>“<em>No!</em>  It’s  on  him!  <em>He  did  this!  No  one  else!</em>  Him!  You  fought  back  as  hard  as  you  could  and  got  away  and  I  am  going  to  rip  his  heart  out  for  touching  you!”</p><p>And  you  had  no  doubt  that  he  probably  would  rip  out  your  attackers  heart  if  given  the  opportunity.</p><p>“No  one  else.  Only  him.”  Came  from  your  lips,  word  for  word.</p><p>Vehemently.</p><p>Nothing  but  conviction  dripped  from  his  lips.  “Not  another  soul  is  responsible  for  doing  this  to  you!”</p><p>Steve  trembled.  He  shook  in  the  seat.  So  close  to  you,  close  enough  to  touch.</p><p>Unable  to  tear  away  from  him,  you  found  your  heart  pounded  loudly  in  your  ears.  You  even  felt  a  little  warmer  beneath  the  collar.  When  your  voice  came  out,  it  was  low  but  there  was  a  husk  to  it.  “Not  me.  Not  you.  You  didn’t  put  these  bruises  on  me.”</p><p>Any  hints  of  any  guilt  or  discomfort,  shame  even  from  earlier  in  the  bathroom  or  whenever  he  took  in  your  bruises  was  gone.  Gone.  “You  are  damn  right  I  didn’t!  I  would  never  hurt  you!  I  would  never  hit  you!  I  wouldn’t  never  put  my  hand  on  you!  Don’t  you  ever  forget  it!”  A  few  strands  of  hair  fell  across  his  forehead  that  he  didn’t  seem  to  notice,  or  care  about.</p><p>And  you  were  quiet.</p><p>You  refused  to  look  away.  Allowing  it  to  settle  in  before  you  told  him  firmly,  but  with  no  less  fire.  “You  didn’t  do  this.  I  couldn’t  stop  this.  I  need  you  Steve.  I  need  this  Steve,  not  the  Steve  who  can’t  look  at  me  without  my  bruises  covered.  Be  mad  and  spitting  fire  at  me.  Don’t  give  me  anymore  of  this  horrible  silence.”</p><p>And  he  was  quiet.  Quiet  but  not  silent.</p><p>There  was  eye  contact.  Another  vehicle  went  around  that  neither  of  you  noticed.  Steve  reached  over  with  the  hand  not  damaging  his  steering  wheel  to  cup  your  face  with  his  palm,  brush  the  pad  of  his  thumb  over  your  red  bottom  lip.</p><p>“It’s  not  your  fault  Steve.  None  of  this  is  your  fault.  Nothing  is  your  fault.”</p><p>Whatever  he’d  been  thinking  about,  struggling  with,  whatever  had  trapped  him  within  his  head  seemed  to  be  impacted  by  your  words.  Steve  breathed  deeply  as  he  regarded  you.  Nodded.  Something  clearly  having  been  internally  resolved,  or  decided  upon,  as  he  pulled  the  swell  of  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth.  </p><p>“Take  me  to  Maria’s  house  and  tell  me  about  your  day.  Then  take  me  home  Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Paperwork  in  hand,  you  clapped  up  the  driveway  loudly  on  your  heels  as  Steve  spoke  to  Bucky  on  the  phone.  When  Steve  helped  you  out  of  his  truck,  there  had  been  some  sort  of  a  discussion  going  on  about  where  to  put  several  bags  of  trash.  Not  that  you  could  even  say  you  were  a  little  surprised  at  this  point  in  your  life.  </p><p>Bucky  bringing  home  bags  of  trash  for  him  and  Steve  and  Peter  to  go  through?  </p><p>Oh  yeah,  totally  within  the  realm  of  your  normal.</p><p>On  your  journey  up  the  driveway,  to  the  front  porch  and  door  of  the  Santiago  home,  you  were  trying  to  decide  if  you  wanted  to  ask  exactly  whose  trash  Bucky  was  stealing  in  order  to  dig  through,  jointly.  What  since  Peter  was  involved.  It  seemed  to  be  some  sort  of  a  combined  effort.</p><p>If  digging  through  bags  of  trash  kept  Steve  out  of  his  head,  well,  by  god,  you’d  find  some  bags  of  trash  for  him  too.</p><p>Boys  could  be  so  weird.</p><p>Echoing  on  the  wooden  steps  up  onto  the  white  porch  with  potted  flowers  and  a  white  glider  with  soft  yellow  cushions,  you  gripped  the  papers  and  approached  the  door.  Raising  your  hand  to  knock,  you  noticed  the  door  wasn’t  shut.</p><p>Odd.</p><p>The  white  front  door  was  open  a  crack.  A  small  crack.</p><p>Hairs  on  the  back  of  your  neck  rose.</p><p>Goosebumps  rippled  over  your  arms  and  legs.  </p><p>A  chill  swept  through  you  and  your  throat  tightened,  a  familiar  smell  hit  your  nose.  Cologne  or  bodywash?  It  made  a  cold  sweat  break  out  over  your  skin.  That  smell  made  your  stomach  knot.</p><p>Another  deep  breath  brought  more  of  it  in.</p><p>A  flash  of  purple.  </p><p>Him.  It  was  him.</p><p>Pulling  back  your  hand  as  if  the  door  were  on  fire,  you  touched  the  door  with  the  toe  of  your  pump.  Pushing  it  open.  Making  your  stomach  twist  up  tighter  and  tighter.</p><p>The  door  swung  open  to  reveal  blood  smeared  across  hardwood  flooring.  Broken  glass.  Overturned  furniture.</p><p>Smells  of  iron  hit  you.</p><p>The  papers  dropped  from  your  hand  and  further  in  the  house,  past  the  entranceway  halfway  down  a  hallway  was  a  body.  A  man.  An  older  man  in  a  suit.  </p><p>Blood  was  seared  on  the  soft  grey  walls,  smeared  on  the  floor.  Droplets  and  spray  seemed  to  be  everywhere.</p><p>You  didn’t  remember  screaming  for  Steve.  You  barely  remembered  screaming. </p><p>You  remembered  hurrying  in  the  house,  hurring  across  the  sticky  floor.  You  remembered  dropping  down  to  your  knees,  when  it  was  clear  to  you  that  the  man  was  moaning  out  incoherently.  </p><p>For  the  life  of  you,  you  could  not  remember  Maria’s  husbands  name  other  than  Santiago.</p><p>“Sir?  Sir?  Mister  Santiago?  Mister  Santiago  can  you  hear  me?”</p><p>Moaning.  It  got  louder,  stronger.</p><p>Blood  soaked  his  suit,  his  chest.  Two  bullet  holes  were  visible  in  the  dark  liquid.  Up  high  almost  to  his  collarbone.  When  you  pressed  down  on  the  holes,  a  sharp  gasp  came  from  Maria’s  husband.  Who  seemed  a  bit  paler  than  the  last  time  you  saw  him.</p><p>“Mister  Santiago?  Mister  Santiago?  What  happened?”</p><p>Although  you  knew  what  happened.  You  of  all  people  knew  what  had  happened.  That  smell.  It  was  stuck  in  your  nose,  overwhelming  the  smells  of  iron  and  rust.</p><p>Warm  blood  oozed  around  your  hands,  up  through  your  fingers  when  you  pushed.</p><p>Distantly  you  heard  Steve  shouting  for  you.  His  shoes  slammed  heavy  on  the  hardwood  floor  from  him  running  towards  you.  Not  that  you  were  fully  aware.  Blood  continued  to  ooze  up  as  you  applied  more  pressure  to  stem  the  bleeding.  </p><p>Brown  eyes  fluttered  open.</p><p>Maria’s  husband  opened  his  mouth,  wheezed,  coughed  blood  all  over  your  shoulder  and  neck  and  the  side  of  your  face.  Warm  and  wet.  Followed  by  a  deep,  rough,  wet  sound  that  told  you  a  lung  had  been  punctured.  The  same  thing  had  happened  to  Peter  on  several  occasions  after  the  spider  bite.  When  he  was  unable  to  go  to  the  ER  after  mishaps  or  falls  or  fights.  When  he  was  grievously  injured  but  would  be  fine  in  a  matter  of  hours,  healing  far  faster  than  was  normal,  but  still  requiring  some  aid.</p><p>One  time  involving  an  encounter  with  a  bus,  an  encounter  with  a  horrific  looking  man-octopus-machine,  plus  there  was  a  ker-splat  after  a  mishap  with  a  webshooter  from  a  high  distance  fall.</p><p>Two  collapsed  lungs  sounded  totally  different.  You  knew  what  that  sounded  like,  after  Peter  fell  those  eighty-six  feet  onto  concrete.  </p><p>Before  you  could  ask,  you  heard  Steve  speaking  to  someone  who  sounded  distinctively  like  911,  based  on  his  end  of  the  conversation.  Allowing  you  to  focus.  Remembering  what  you’d  done  before  Peter’s  lungs  healed  themselves.  </p><p>A  frantic  hand  grabbed  your  dress,  clung  to  your  skirt.</p><p>“Don’t  speak,  don’t  try  to  say  anything.  Steve’s  calling  911  right  now.”  Those  brown  eyes  focused  on  you.  He  was  terrified.  Fingers  dug  into  your  hip.  “Squeeze  my  dress  for  a  yes.  Ok?  Squeeze  if  you  understand.  Do  you  understand?”</p><p>Squeeze.  A  tight  squeeze.</p><p>“I  need  to  know  your  blood  type  for  the  paramedics.  You  lost  a  lot.  Ok?  Squeeze  when  I  get  to  your  blood  type.  Ok?”</p><p>A  tight  squeeze.</p><p>“Type  A…B…O…”</p><p>Another  really  tight  squeeze.</p><p>“O?  O  positive  or…”</p><p>Squeeze.</p><p>“O  positive,”  you  repeated  to  a  nod  with  a  squeeze.  Keeping  that  pressure  on  his  gunshot  wounds.  Seeing  that  there  was  bruising  on  the  side  of  his  face.  “He  took  Maria,  didn’t  he?”</p><p>A  nod.  A  squeeze.  A  wheeze,  some  coughing.</p><p>“Mister  Santiago,  I  need  you  to  stay  calm.  Don’t  try  to  talk.  Steady  breaths.  Help  is  on  the  way.  Can  you  squeeze  if  it  was  a  man  or…”</p><p>Hard  squeeze.</p><p>“Did  you  recognize  him?”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Did  he  shoot  you?”</p><p>Squeeze.</p><p>You  could  feel  his  chest  kick,  fight  against  you.  His  breathing  was  not  steady.  Brown  eyes  widening  and  you  knew  he  was  desperate  to  tell  you  something,  you  knew,  deep  down  you  knew.</p><p>“Its  ok.  I  know…I  know  Mister  Santiago,”  you  encouraged,  leaning  closer  to  him,  placing  more  weight  onto  his  gunshot  wounds.  “Was  his  face  covered  up?”</p><p>Squeezing.  Frantic  squeezes.</p><p>“Did  he  have  a  mask?”  you  furthered,  not  wanting  to  upset  him  but  knowing  he  wouldn’t  be  able  to  try  and  be  as  calm  as  was  possible  for  him,  if  he  didn’t  get  it  out.  You  knew  what  desperation  felt  like.  Terror  too.</p><p>More  squeezes  that  yanked  on  your  dress,  dug  into  your  thigh.</p><p>Not  wanting  to  waste  any  precious  time  because  you  knew.  “A  purple  mask?  Right?  Knit?  He  had  brown  eyes?  Not  overly  tall  or  big  like  Steve.  Strong  though?”</p><p>Something  tore  in  your  dress.  Ripped  from  his  squeezing.  The  older  man  nodded  hard  enough  that  he  sputtered,  coughed  up  more  blood.  Fortunately,  you  turned  your  head  in  time.  Blood  was  coughed  onto  your  hair,  your  ear.</p><p>And  then  Steve  was  pushing  your  hands  aside.</p><p>“Let  me  do  this…” </p><p>Whether  you  wanted  to  move  your  hands  or  not,  Steve  didn’t  care.  He  didn’t  want  Carlos  coughing  up  more  blood  on  you.  Having  shrugged  out  of  the  jacket  of  his  suit,  Steve  shoved  that  onto  the  two  gunshot  wounds,  staunching  the  flow  of  whatever  blood  was  left  in  him.  </p><p>You  never  ceased  to  amaze  him.</p><p>Your  courage  and  bravery  and  strength.  </p><p>When  he  heard  you  scream  and  saw  you  vanish  in  Carlos’s  house,  he’d  never  been  more  terrified  and  when  he  could  smell  all  the  blood.  Seeing  you  knelt  over  Carlos  and  getting  information,  tending  to  him,  as  if  you  weren’t  in  a  sea  of  blood  in  a  house  that  had  been  violated.  You  were  strong.  You  were  fierce.</p><p>“Mister  Santiago?  What  time  did  he  take  Maria?  Was  it  noon?  One…”</p><p>Steve  noticed  Carlos  squeeze  your  dress.</p><p>“Closer  to  one?  Ok.”</p><p>How  you  knew  to  do  that,  to  get  information  from  Carlos  that  way,  was  ingenious.  Only  a  little  bit  concerning.  Later  he’d  think  about  it.</p><p>“Don’t  worry.  We’ll  make  sure  Maria’s  picture  is  everywhere.  We  will  find  him.  You  need  to  focus  on  staying  alive  so  you  can  see  her  again.”</p><p>A  fist  came  up.</p><p>Steve’s  first  instinct  was  to  knock  it  aside.  What  with  how  close  that  fist  was  to  your  face.  Before  he  could,  you  took  Carlos’s  fist  with  bloody  hands  of  your  own,  you  took  that  cut  up  hand  in  yours.  Very  carefully  you  unfolded  the  fingers  until  something  fell  into  your  palm.  Carlos  then  grabbed  Steve’s  shirt  and  tie.</p><p>Steve  wanted  to  know.  “What’d  he  give  you?”</p><p>In  your  outstretched  palm  was  a  bloody  watch.  Not  that  Steve  noticed  the  blood  or  the  cracked  glass  face  of  it.  No.  Not  even  the  broken  clasp  caught  his  eye.  Steve  noticed  the  smooth  backside  of  the  watch.  </p><p>It  was  engraved.</p><p>Steve  grabbed  that  watch  from  your  hand  and  shoved  it  into  his  pocket.</p><p>He  himself,  well,  he  was  unable  to  read  Sokovian.  But  there  were  two  other  people  who  lived  in  his  house.  If  Bucky  couldn’t  figure  it  out  then  the  child  genius  that  was  your  brother  could  likely  give  it  a  crack,  with  a  Sokovian  to  English  dictionary  that  he’d  buy  in  the  very  near  future,  if  need  be.</p><p> </p><p>						****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Much  later  that  night…</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Before  following  you  into  the  house,  Steve  swung  by  the  garage  where  he  knew  Bucky  and  Peter  were  digging  through  Zemo’s  trash,  in  order  to  hand  over  the  watch.  He’d  meant  to  swing  by  a  bookstore.  However,  you’d  gone  to  the  hospital  with  Carlos  in  the  ambulance  while  Steve  helped  the  police  clear  the  house  and  updated  them  on  everything.  </p><p>By  the  time  he’d  given  enough  information  to  be  shared  with  the  press  about  Maria  and  swung  by  the  hospital  to  grab  you,  he  was  ready  to  go  home.</p><p>It  was  late.</p><p>You  looked  like  you’d  just  slaughtered  a  farmyard  animal  with  a  pocket  knife.</p><p>Steve  had  no  doubt  that  Peter  could  find  a  translator  of  some  kind  on  the  internet.  Or  Bucky  could  break  into  a  bookstore.</p><p>Less  bloody  himself,  Steve  was  in  need  of  a  shower  too.</p><p>Still,  he  shed  his  clothing  outside  the  garage  while  updating  two  men  he  considered,  as  Peter  had  termed  it  and  though  he’d  never  admit  the  phrase  had  grown  on  him  in  an  amusing  sort  of  way,  brothers  from  another  mother.</p><p>Upon  promising  to  tell  you  about  Helmut  and  then  come  help,  left  in  only  his  boxer  briefs  and  a  significant  amount  of  Carlos’s  blood,  Steve  then  headed  into  the  house  after  trashing  his  suit.</p><p>Bucky  was  right.</p><p>As  horrible  as  it  was  and  as  stressful  as  it  would  be,  you  were  strong  enough  to  hear  about  their  suspicions  of  Zemo.  You  had  a  right  to  know  as  the  actual  victim.  In  the  Santiago  Home,  you’d  showed  Steve  how  strong  you  were  and  no  matter  what  happened,  he  would  make  sure  you  were  safe.</p><p>If  he  could  help  repel  an  alien  invasion  of  New  York,  he  could  keep  Zemo  away  from  you  till  the  time  came  when  he  had  enough  evidence  to  do  what  needed  to  be  done.</p><p>Such  thoughts  filled  his  head.  </p><p>Although  the  weight  from  earlier  wasn’t  there  anymore.  All  because  of  you.  Whether  from  what  had  happened  at  Maria’s  house  or  your  talk  on  the  drive  over.  Not  that  it  mattered.  It  didn’t.  Now  they  were  merely  thoughts  that  weren’t  dragging  him  down,  plaguing  him.</p><p>Steam  filled  the  bathroom  from  your  hot  shower.</p><p>Your  bloody  clothes  were  stuffed  in  the  trash.  The  black  Hydra  pin  sat  on  the  bathroom  counter  by  an  opened  package  for  a  new  toothbrush.</p><p>Without  saying  a  word,  Steve  shucked  off  his  grey  briefs  and  dropped  them  in  the  trash  too.  Mostly  for  good  measure.  Throwing  the  day  away  sounded  like  the  best  course  of  action  to  him.  Besides,  he  had  bigger  problems  at  hand.  </p><p>His  biggest  one  being  when  he  stepped  onto  the  bathmat  and  reached  out  to  pull  the  shower  curtain,  so  as  to  join  you  in  said  shower.  Where  all  the  steam  was  billowing  out  in  damp  clouds.</p><p>Quickly  that  curtain  was  yanked  shut.  Somewhat  surprising  Steve.</p><p>Pondering  it,  he  blinked  and  was  quiet.</p><p>“I’ll  be  done  in  a  second.”</p><p>Sounds  of  water  spraying  did  not  drown  out  the  sound  of  you  letting  go  of  the  curtain,  scrubbing  something  with  what  Steve  assumed  was  that  new  toothbrush.</p><p>Pausing  before  speaking,  he  did  not  attempt  to  make  reentry.  “Doll?”</p><p>More  of  those  unhurried  brushing  sounds  followed.</p><p>“I  don’t  have  any  concealer  on.  It  all  washed  off.  Calm  your  shit,  I’ll  be  right  out.”</p><p>Nodding  in  understanding.</p><p>Steve  understood.  That  was  fair,  considering  how  he’d  been  behaving  about  your  bruises.  Granted  he  thought  he’d  been  less  obvious.  It  seemed  he  was  wrong.  Especially  after  your  frank  discussion  in  his  truck.  He  deserved  that.  All  of  it.</p><p>Collecting  himself  for  a  moment,  before  he  pulled  the  curtain  back  and  stepped  into  the  shower  with  finality. </p><p>And  it  wasn’t  so  bad.</p><p>Or  perhaps  he  had  a  new  filter  on  things.</p><p>There  you  stood,  beneath  water  that  was  uncomfortably  hot,  scrubbing  at  your  trimmed  nails  with  a  purple  toothbrush,  something  between  a  scowl  and  pout  was  on  your  face.  Clearly  there  was  some  difficulty  in  fully  cleaning  beneath  your  nails.</p><p>Your  eyes  only  flickered  up  for  the  briefest  of  seconds.</p><p>It  did  not  escape  his  notice.</p><p>Nothing  you  did  escaped  his  notice.  </p><p>Leading  Steve  to  close  that  distance  between  the  two  of  you  in  the  small  shower.  Filthy  as  he  was,  he  leaned  down  to  press  his lips  against  an  angry  bruise  on  your  cheek,  another  a  little  higher  up  over  the  swell  of  your  cheekbone.  Not  at  all  missing  how  you  stiffened,  or  when  stopped  your  scrubbing.</p><p>He  deserved  that  too.</p><p>Last  night  bubbled  up.  Sex  in  the  dark.  So  he  didn’t  have  to  see  the  bruises  on  your  body,  so  he  didn’t  have  to  look.  </p><p>Shame  burnt  him  hotter  than  your  scalding  shower.  Making  him  drag  his  lips  down  to  the  dark  blooms  of  color  on  your  neck,  where  he  pressed  his  lips.  Smelling  you  and  the  water  and  your  sweet  body  wash.  </p><p>Blood  began  to  swirl  around  both  your  feet,  as  the  shower  water  pulled  it  from  Steve.  Washing  it  down  the  drain.</p><p>Far  from  done.  Steve  dropped  down  to  his  knees  in  order  to  kiss  the  deep  bruising  on  your  side.  Making  you  reach  down  to  touch  him.  At  first,  he  thought  you  were  going  to  push  him  away.  And  it  felt  like  it  too.  Maybe  you  tried  to.  Not  that  he  let  you.  Steve  wrapped  his  arms  around  you,  held  you  close  and  rested  the  side  of  his  face  against  your  wet  skin.</p><p>“There’s  something  I  need  to  tell  you.”</p><p>When  Steve  sank  down  onto  his  knees,  you  knew  it  was  going  to  be  bad.  You  just  knew  it.  It  was  like  something  in  you  could  see  the  resignation  and  a  sense  of  relief  lift  from  him.  Since  you  had  no  idea  if  you  were  going  to  want  to  kneel  down  with  him  or  get  the  hell  out  of  the  shower,  you  remained  where  you  stood.  Although,  you  did  keep  touching  him,  running  your  fingers  through  his  hair  as  the  enormous  mass  of  muscle  that  was  your  husband  confessed,  while  looking  you  right  in  the  eye.  “We  think  it’s  Zemo.”</p><p>No,  you  most  definitely  did  not  want  to  leave  the  shower  for  the  rest  of  this  conversation.</p><p>“We  can’t  prove  it  yet.  We’re  working  on  it  though.  That’s  why  I  was  so  upset  today…I  don’t  want  him  around  you.”</p><p>A  million  things  seemed  to  run  through  your  head  as  you  took  that  in.</p><p>Probably  like  a  million  things  were  running  through  his  head.  Still,  he  didn’t  feel  the  need  to  panic  yet.  As  your  fingers  still  wove  through  his  hair.  Whether  you  realized  you  were  doing  it  or  not,  Steve  didn’t  care.</p><p>Finally,  when  you  did  speak,  you  sounded  somewhat  bewildered,  not  entirely  sure.  As  if  you  were  still  piecing  things  together.  “Peter  and  Bucky…out  in  the  garage.  They’re  going  through  Zemo’s  trash?”</p><p>That  that  was  what  your  brain  latched  on  to  was  fine  with  Steve.</p><p>You  weren’t  screaming  at  him.  You  weren’t  hysterical.  You  weren’t  accusing  him  of  hiding  this  from  you  or  lying.  This  reaction  was  more  than  fine.  It  sent  him  forward.  Sending  him  to  rest  his  face  against  your  thighs,  wrap  his  arms  around  your  legs  and  behind  your  knees.  </p><p>Putting  him  eye  level  with  darkly  colored  fingerprints  that  were  mottled  with  a  yellowish  green.</p><p>Steve  kissed  them  too,  one  at  a  time  and  waited  for  you.</p><p>Because  he  knew  you  would  have  questions.</p><p>You  of  all  people  would  have  questions.  </p><p>You  of  all  people  deserved  some  time  to  think,  to  catch  up  and  understand  what  he’d  told  you,  what  had  happened  that  day  and  when  you  plopped  down  in  front  of  him  on  the  shower  floor.  Rested  your  palms  on  his  thighs.  Having  set  the  toothbrush  down  beside  you.  Steve  closed  his  eyes  and  placed  his  forehead  against  yours.  Grateful.  Knowing  after  his  day,  it  was  more  than  he  deserved.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author's Note:: Hello friendly readers!! I feel like I should apologize for the length of this one. When I was writing all the ideas were flowing so I had to trim this down into two chapters. I may be making this a 15 chapter story because this is getting away from me, LOL. Hopefully no one minds. And also, having finished all my nearly complete works in progress, I feel like I am now able to get on a somewhat semi-regular posting schedule. Whoo! I'll bounce between this and the other story, so a chapter every other week of Toxic I suspect will be the new norm, fingers crossed. Thank you everyone who reads this for your continued support and your wonderful comments! &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trash.</p><p>It  was  everywhere..</p><p>A  tarp  had  been  laid  out  on  the  garage  floor.  Three  trash  bags  had  been  dumped  out  on  that  tarp  and  the  four  of  you  sorted  through  it,  piece  by  piece,  tossing  items  that  weren’t  useful  into  new  trash  bags.</p><p>It  seemed  to  be  a  mix  of  kitchen,  bathroom  and  home  trash.</p><p>Nothing  stood  out.  </p><p>Nothing  was  incriminating.</p><p>Nothing  was  particularly  interesting  in  your  opinion.</p><p>After  your  shower,  you  and  Steve  had  come  into  the  garage,  pulled  on  some  gloves  and  got  to  work.  </p><p>So  sure,  you  knelt  down  beside  Peter  to  help  fill  his  bag.  Leaving  Steve  to  help  on  Bucky’s  side  of  the  tarp.  And  while  you  hadn’t  said  anything  about  what  he’d  said,  the  suspicions  about  Colonel  Zemo,  you  couldn’t  help  but  not  think  about  it.  In  the  shower  the  moment  never  came  for  you  to  be  angry  or  upset  with  him.  Now,  well,  you  couldn’t  say  you  were  raging  but  you  were  thinking,  you  were  stewing,  you  were  letting  it  roll  around  and  fester  in  your  mind,  which  was  probably  worse  than  yelling  out  how  you  felt  at  your  husband.</p><p>You  were  quiet.</p><p>You  didn’t  say  anything  really.  What  with  the  garage  being  quiet  with  the  four  of  you  working,  so  it  wasn’t  too  telling.  </p><p>A  few  times  you  felt  Steve’s  eyes  on  you.</p><p>Unsure  how  exactly  you  felt,  you  didn’t  look  up  or  respond  or  even  acknowledge  it.  You  wanted  to  yell  and  scream  and  be  angry.  However…you  couldn’t,  you  felt…you  felt…you  felt  like  you  had  a  tummy  ache.  You  felt  like  something  holding  you  up  had  been  cut.  As  if  there  was  no  more  wind  filling  your  sails.  All  your  surprise  and  shock  from  the  shower  had  melted  away  into  this  sinking  feeling.</p><p>Steve  had  lied  to  you.</p><p>Ok,  so  sure,  you  lied  to  Steve  more  times  than  you  could  count.  All  of  your  lies  were  harmless,  benign.  Your  lies  never  involved  one  of  you  getting  your  ass  beat  from  one  end  of  a  parking  garage  to  the  other.</p><p>When  you  could  stand  no  more  of  the  silence,  or  Steve’s  eyes  on  you.  You  glanced  over  at  your  brother.  On  his  knees.  Blue  medical  gloves  on  his  hands,  all  your  hands  actually,  as  Peter  grabbed  a  knotted-up  plastic  bag  from  CVS.  Which  turned  out  to  be  several  bags  knotted  up.</p><p>Quietly,  knowing  that  he  and  the  two  super  soldiers  on  the  other  side  of  the  tarp  had  super-hearing,  you  asked  him.  “How  long  do  you  think  Maria  has?”</p><p>Across  from  you  two,  Bucky  and  Steve  paused  in  their  picking  through  kitchen  trash.</p><p>Peter’s  hands  didn’t  still  in  his  quest  to  gently  tear  into  the  trash,  as  you  sorted  through  shredded  bank  statements  in  a  language  you  didn’t  understand.</p><p>Your  brother’s  brown  eyes  remained  on  the  plastic  bag.  Calmly,  patiently,  as  he  tugged  at  the  plastic,  he  responded.  “Well,  from  what  we  determined  based  on  that  pamphlet  you  brought  back  from  the  Hydra  Wives  Luncheon…”  A  small  tear  began  to  form  in  the  bags.  “…along  with  the  remains  that  were  in  that  box  on  our  stoop.  Bucky  took  it  to  the  Medical  Examiners  Office  for  storage  and  they  examined  them.  Which  gave  us  a  two  to  three-day  window.  Whoever  it  is,  is  keeping  the  wives  alive  for  whatever  purpose,  before…you  know…killing  them.”</p><p>At  mention  of  your  metal  armed  roommate,  you  peered  across  the  debris  scattered  out  on  the  cold  hard  garage  floor.</p><p>There  he  sat.  </p><p>Dark  hair  pulled  up  in  a  bun.  Wearing  blue  sweat  pants  and  a  t-shirt.  The  contrast  between  his  metal  and  flesh  arm  so  obvious  against  the  white  fabric.</p><p>When  Bucky  realized  you  were  looking  at  him,  he  froze,  panicked.  Unsure  if  you  were  looking  to  him  for  an  answer  or  some  sort  of  reassurance.  The  very  best  he  could  do  was  tell  you.  “The  boy  could  be  wrong.  He  could  kill  her  sooner.  Or  not  at  all.  We  don’t  know  what  he  is  doing  with  them  during  that  time.  Steve  said  Maria  was  a  SHIELD  Agent.”  That  last  bit  sort  of  hung  in  the  air.</p><p>Personally,  you  had  absolutely  no  idea  if  being  a  former  SHIELD  Agent  would  help  Maria  survive.  Since  you  could  not  look  at  Steve,  talk  to  Steve  or  stand  the  sound  of  his  voice,  you  didn’t  ask.</p><p>Fortunately,  you  didn’t  need  to  worry  about  it.</p><p>From  beside  you  came  Peter’s  gentle  voice.</p><p>“I  think  I  found  something.”</p><p>Thank  the  heavens.</p><p>Sitting  across  from  Steve  and  knowing  he  was  there,  it  was  making  you  feel  even  worse,  even  sicker  inside.</p><p>Giving  Peter  your  full  and  complete  attention  was  a  far  better  alternative.  Leading  you  to  look  over  as  he  pulled  out  a  dark  stick.</p><p>No.</p><p>Not  a  stick,  a  heel,  a  shoe  heel  and  it  wasn’t  dark,  it  was  covered  in  dried  blood.</p><p>Your  heel.</p><p>The  heel  from  your  damn  shoe  that  you’d  worn  when  you  were  attacked,  that  you’d  stabbed  your  attacker  with  and  here  it  was,  reunited  with  you,  finding  its  way  home.  Just  like  Lassie.</p><p>Your  jaw  dropped.</p><p>Steve  leaned  over,  a  clear  plastic  kitchen  baggie  in  his  hands  that  your  brother  dropped  the  broken  piece  of  footwear  in.  Leading  you  to  push  up  on  your  knees  to  peer  over  his  slim  shoulder.  “What  else  is  in  that  bag?”</p><p>Both  of  you  peered  back  in  the  drugstore  bag.</p><p>In  Peter  reached  to  withdraw  bandages.  Bloody  gauze.  Bloody  paper  towels.  A  stiff  shirt  dried  with  blood.  All  the  blood  was  a  dark  brown.  A  hint  of  iron  hung  in  the  garage  air.</p><p>By  which  point,  both  Steve  and  Bucky  were  collecting  the  items  in  more  gallon  sized  Ziploc  Baggies.</p><p>Peter  pulled  out  a  few  empty  boxes  of  gauze.  An  empty  tube  of  disinfectant.  </p><p>“He  wouldn’t  have  been  able  to  go  to  the  hospital  without  them  calling  the  police.”  Came  from  Steve,  making  your  brother  nod  in  agreement.  </p><p>Something  clearly  caught  your  brother’s  eye.</p><p>Somewhat  excitedly,  he  reached  in  to  pull  that  something  out.</p><p>A  certain  something  dangled  from  his  fingers  that  you  immediately  reached  for.  Having  figured  you’d  lost  it  forever.</p><p>A  once  delicate  gold  bracelet.  Now  stained  with  rusty  blood.  Snapped  in  half  in  the  middle.  Most  of  the  charms  were  gone.  Either  ripped  off  entirely,  or  only  the  clasps  remaining  from  where  they’d  broken  apart  from  the  jewelry.  Only  three  were  left.  One  of  which  was  bent,  which  was  ok.  Bent  was  fine.  Bent  wasn’t  broken.</p><p>Steve  watched.</p><p>Steve  wanted  to  ask,  he  really  did.</p><p>He  watched  Peter  set  the  little  charm  bracelet  in  your  palm  almost  reverently.  Indeed  he  was  about  to  ask.  Until  Bucky  got  his  attention.  Until  Bucky  got  his  attention  and  sent  him  a  look  that  screamed  <em>shut  the  hell  up  Steve</em>.</p><p>“I  thought  I’d  lost  it  forever.”</p><p>“It  must  have  gotten  stuck  on  his  clothes.  There’s  a  hunk  of  fabric  or  something  stuck  to  that  part  there,  see?”</p><p>Yes,  you  did  see.</p><p>Steve  watched  you  turn  the  bracelet  over  in  your  hand.  Peer  down  at  the  charms  closely.</p><p>“We  can  call  Aunt  May  tomorrow  and  tell  her  what  ones  are  gone.  She  can  go  to  the  jeweler  and  have  them  replaced.”</p><p>Quietly  you  nodded  and  placed  the  piece  of  broken  jewelry  carefully  down  on  the  smooth  cement.  Not  looking  at  him.  Your  attention  returning  back  to  the  bag  in  Peter’s  hands.</p><p>Bucky  was  right.</p><p>Bucky  was  so  so  right.</p><p>What  he  would  have  given  to  do  it  all  over  again.  What  he  would  have  given  to  have  you  yell  and  shout  and  scream  at  him  in  outrage  in  the  shower.  At  least  then,  if  you  two  had  fought,  it  would  have  been  done  and  over  and  sure  you  would  have  been  pissed  or  irritated,  you  wouldn’t  have  been  quiet.  Quiet,  not  looking  at  him,  not  acknowledging  him,  withdrawing  into  yourself  where  Steve  had  no  idea  what  you  were  thinking,  since  you  weren’t  screeching  it  at  him.  </p><p>“He’s  not  a  straight  up  serial  killer  then.  He’s  doing  this  for  a  different  reason,”  you  mumbled  out  loud  to  no  one  particular,  making  Peter  nod  in  agreement.  </p><p>Ignoring  that  previous  look  from  Bucky.  Steve  found  himself  asking  and  not  only  because  he  actually  wanted  to  know,  but  he  wanted  you  to  say  something,  anything,  look  his  way.  Any  attention  was  preferable  to  this  lack  of  it.  As  if  the  sun  were  you  and  had  turned  itself  off,  not  allowing  him  to  feel  your  warmth.</p><p>“What  makes  you  say  that?”</p><p>Peter  kept  digging  as  Bucky  waited  with  an  open  baggie  on  hand.</p><p>You  looked  at  him.</p><p>In  your  eyes  was  hurt.  Reminding  him  of  a  wounded  animal  and  he  had  done  that  without  having  done  a  thing.  All  from  withholding.  </p><p>Later  he  would  make  it  right.</p><p>Later,  he  was  going  to  talk  to  you  in  bed  to  make  this  right.</p><p>Even  your  voice  sounded  different.  Less  fiery,  that  spark  was  dulled  a  bit.  Sure,  your  day  hadn’t  helped  much  either.  Finding  Maria’s  husband  near  death.  Taking  your  oath  to  Hydra.  Last  night  you’d  been  up  late  too.  No  wonder  you  sounded  exhausted.</p><p>“Serial  killers  usually  keep  things.  Mementos.  That’s  the  only  thing  that  was  missing  and  it’s  in  his  trash.  He’s  not  keeping  trophies.”  Was  what  you  told  him.  Following  that  up  with  a  gesture  of  your  hands  telling  him  to  take  from  that  what  he  wanted.</p><p>Peter  looked  at  you.</p><p>You  knew  what  he  was  going  say,  ask.</p><p>
  <em>So  why  is  he  doing  this?</em>
</p><p>Peter  never  got  a  chance  to  ask.</p><p>“It’s  not  important  why  he’s  kidnapping  Hydra  wives,  killing  them  and  cutting  them  up  into  little  pieces.”  Bucky  announced.  “Who  cares?  Right  now,  we  have  to  figure  out  who  he  is  and  where  he  put  Maria  before  she  ends  up  on  our  doorstep,  in  little  pieces,  in  a  box  too.”</p><p>Bucky  could  really  help  put  things  into  perspective.</p><p>Finding  out  where  Maria  was,  was  foremost.  Making  certain  that  Colonel  Zemo  was  your  attacker  was  second  in  importance.  It  looked  pretty  certain,  but  it  needed  to  be  one  hundred  percent  and  since  you  couldn’t  say  that  Helmut  was  the  man  who  had  attacked  you,  science  was  needed.</p><p>Steve  was  wrong.  Steve  was  right.</p><p>You  should  have  known,  you  wanted  to  know.  You  wouldn’t  have  done  anything  different.  But  you  also  would  have  liked  to  know  that  there  was  a  chance  that  someone  in  Hydra  that  you  possibly  worked  alongside  could  have  been  your  attacker.</p><p>You  couldn’t  identify  him  though.  Other  than  to  say  he  smelled  familiar  and  that  wasn’t  enough  to  let  Steve  do  horrifically  violent  things  to  him.  Bucky  assured  you  it  wasn’t  a  problem.  Peter  gave  you  statistics  on  how  common  it  was  for  victims  to  be  unable  to  correctly  identify  their  assailants  due  to  trauma. </p><p>Pressure,  oh  there  was  pressure.  Your  own  pressure.</p><p>According  to  Helmut’s  trash  and  the  scratches  on  Helmut’s  face  and  the  Eastern  European  accent…Helmut  had  almost  murdered  you.</p><p>Yet…when  you  looked  at  Helmut,  spoke  to  him,  stood  near  him…nothing.</p><p>Surely  if  someone  had  beaten  the  stuffing  out  of  you,  you  should  have  remembered  him  at  least  a  little  bit.  Right?  Someone  who  had  done  something  so  horrific  to  you  should  have  at  least  sparked  a  little  bit  of  recognition.  Right?  How  could  you  not  recognize  someone  who’d  done  something  so  life  changing  to  you?</p><p>“You  said  he  had  wet  hair?”</p><p>Up  you  looked.</p><p>Was  Peter  talking  to  you?</p><p>No,  Peter  was  talking  to  Steve.  Making  you  look  between  the  two  of  them  as  Bucky  did,  catching  Bucky’s  eye  in  the  process,  both  of  you  curious  as  to  what  Peter  was  wanting  to  know.</p><p>“Damp  hair.  Yeah.  Why?  What’re  you  thinking  Pete?”</p><p>Because  your  brother  was  smart.  Probably  smarter  than  the  three  of  you  combined.  He’d  always  been  smarter  than  you  growing  up,  helping  you  with  your  homework  more  times  than  you  could  count.</p><p>Lowering  the  bag.  Thinking.  Running  something  over  in  his  head.  You  recognized  the  signs.</p><p>“That  was  at  four?  When  you  left?”</p><p>You  and  Bucky  might  as  well  have  been  watching  tennis.  From  Steve  to  Peter  and  then  back  to  Steve  you  both  looked,  and  then  back.</p><p>“Yeah.  Four.”</p><p>Up  went  Peter’s  gaze  as  he  thought  further.</p><p>Another  look  passed  between  you  and  Bucky  until  Peter  lifted  both  his  hands,  one  gripping  the  CVS  bags.  Eyes  still  upwards.  Brain  still  working  far  quicker  and  better  than  yours  of  lately  it  seemed.  “Ok…ok,  so,  you  said  that  Maria’s  husband  said  he  took  her  at  around  one.  Which  gives  us  one  to  four  and  that  is  a  three-hour  window.  Knock  out  a  thirty-minute  window  from  the  time  when  you  saw  him  and  backtrack  to  a  shower  to  clean  up.  He  would  have  had  to  have  showered  right  before  he  came  back  to  the  office  for  his  hair  to  be  damp,  not  wet.”</p><p>Peter’s  eyes  remained  upwards,  he  fingertips  tapping,  lost  up  there,  lost  in  that  big  brain  of  his  without  a  paper  and  pen,  or  marker  and  dry  erase  board.  Words  tumbled  out  as  quickly  as  his  thoughts  formed.  This  was  not  new  to  you.  “Obviously  he  could  not  have  shown  up  all  bloody  to  shower  at  the  office.  Either  he  showered  and  came  right  over,  or  he  showered  somewhere  close  and  then  came  in  the  building.  That  brings  us  to  two  and  a  half  hours.  Cut  that  in  half,  an  hour  and  fifteen  minutes  respectively.  Let’s  say  he  drove  an  hour  to  wherever  he  took  Maria,  spent  half  an  hour  securing  her  and  then  another  hour  to  get  to  where  he  was  able  to  shower  up.”  The  second  that  he  closed  his  eyes,  you  knew  he  was  putting  his  photographic  memory  to  use.  Having  done  this  since  childhood,  you  were  not  bothered  for  a  second.  “Since  he  would  have  been  a  bloody  mess  and  wanted  to  avoid  cameras,  as  many  eyes  as  possible.  He’d  take  as  many  small  or  side  or  back  streets  as  possible.  He’d  drive  the  speed  limit.  Accounting  for  DC  traffic  it  could  be  a  safe  estimation  that  he’d  be  within  a  thirty  to  thirty-five-mile  radius  conservatively  of  Maria’s  home.  Forty  miles  if  we  stretched  it.  Let’s  do  the  same  for  his  trip  back  to  wherever  he  cleaned  up.  Thirty  to  forty  miles  from  the  place  he’s  keeping  Maria  to  somewhere  relatively  near  the  Convention  Center.  That  should  be  where  we  focus  our  attention.  That  distance  to  those  locations  and  outward  three  to  four  inches  radius.  Where  it  intersects  is  our  target  area.”</p><p>Since  you  did  not  possess  a  photographic  memory,  you  were  already  scrambling  up  to  your  feet.</p><p>In  your  car  was  an  old  fashion  paper  map  of  DC.</p><p>All  of  your  previous  thoughts  were  gone.  Without  a  doubt,  they’d  be  back.  However  now,  you  had  a  task.  A  quest.  Destiny  sang  out  to  you.</p><p>Hurrying  over  to  your  Impala  in  your  socks,  you  pulled  open  the  door  and  clambered  in  as  Bucky  helpfully  chimed  in  with  his  expertise.</p><p>“He’d  want  somewhere  without  a  lot  of  foot  traffic.  Few  cameras.  Someplace  that  he  could  have  privacy.  You  need  space  to  work  to  disarticulate  a  human  body.”</p><p>Ah,  there  was  your  map,  in  the  glovebox.  Finding  a  sharpie  too  after  a  bit  of  digging.</p><p>Having  acquired  both,  you  stiffly  clambered  out  and  bounced  the  door  shut  with  your  hip.  Hurrying  back  over  to  near  the  trash  heap.  By  then,  you  had  half  the  map  unfolded  and  all  spread  out  on  the  floor  seconds  later.</p><p>It  didn’t  even  bother  you  when  Steve  came  over  to  your  side  to  help  smooth  out  the  folded  wrinkles.</p><p>Together  the  two  of  you  found  Maria’s  neighborhood.  Which  Steve  then  showed  you  where  to  make  the  circle  with  your  lime  Sharpie,  per  Peter’s  instructions  but  Steve  also  seemed  to  have  a  good  idea  already  in  his  tacticians  brain.</p><p>“Here,”  he  pointed  out  once  more.  Motioning  how  big  the  circle  around  the  Convention  Center  needed  to  be.</p><p>You  couldn’t  help  but  notice  where  Target  fell  on  the  map.</p><p>Right  in  the  middle.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>“Did  you  eat  all  of  my  pudding  cups?”  Peter  wanted  to  know  from  where  he  stood  on  his  tippy  toes,  peering  at  the  shelves  in  the  kitchen  where  he  knew  for  absolute  certain  there  were  plastic  cups  of  chocolate  pudding  yesterday.  This  he  knew  for  a  fact.  There  were  ten  of  them  left.  Ten  whole  pudding  cups.  Peter  had  counted.  After  the  last  raiding  of  the  cabinets,  Peter  had  begun  writing  his  name  on  hidden  food  items  that  you  bought  specially  for  him.</p><p>Turning  around,  your  younger  brother  set  his  gaze  on  the  brunet  super  soldier  that  now  lived  with  them.</p><p>Or,  the  pudding  cup  bandit.</p><p>Without  a  single  hint  of  remorse,  Bucky  stood  in  front  of  the  open  fridge  sniffing  a  gallon  of  opened  orange  juice.</p><p>“I  promise  I  won’t  get  mad  or  upset.  But,  if  you  remember,  this  here  is  my  shelf.  I  even  took  the  liberty  of  writing  my  name  on  everything  on  this  shelf.  See?  Right  here?  It  says  PETER.”</p><p>Not  even  a  little  guilty,  Bucky  liberally  drank  orange  juice  right  out  of  the  jug.</p><p>Patiently,  Peter  waited  for  him  to  respond.</p><p>He  crossed  his  arms  and  tilted  his  head  in  a  paternal  sort  of  way  and  waited.  Which  Bucky  found  beyond  amusing.  How  could  he  not?</p><p>Upon  drinking  a  good  bit  of  the  tangy  beverage,  Bucky  lowered  it  and  set  his  eyes  upon  Peter  in  the  kitchen,  over  by  the  cabinets.  </p><p>He  wasn’t  going  to  lie.</p><p>He  rarely  did.</p><p>He  was  more  likely  to  say  nothing  opposed  to  saying  something  that  was  untrue.  People  were  way  more  uncomfortable  with  silence  and  that  was  what  he  was  usually  generally  aiming  for,  especially  outside  the  home.</p><p>“Look.  Kid.”  He  began,  giving  the  jug  of  juice  a  good  swirl.  “If  I’ve  told  you  once,  I’ve  told  you  a  hundred  times.  If  there  is  missing  food  anywhere  in  the  kitchen,  I  probably  ate  it.  It  doesn’t  matter  whose  name  is  on  it.  Or  where  it  was.  Put  it  on  the  food  list  for  the  store.”</p><p>A  sigh  paired  with  clenched  jaw  came  from  Peter.</p><p>“But  my  name  was  written  on  it.  We  went  over  this  last  time  with  the  leftovers.  Remember?”</p><p>Truthfully,  Bucky  absolutely  remembered.  Peter  had  gone  on  for  a  solid  fifteen  minutes  about  names  on  food  items  and  what  that  meant.  All  Bucky  really  remembered  about  that  whole  exchange  was  the  steak  and  chicken  fajita  leftovers  were  delicious.</p><p>Keeping  quiet,  he  took  yet  another  sip  of  juice  and  was  more  than  a  little  happy  when  footsteps  neared  the  kitchen.</p><p>Maybe  Peter  would  get  distracted  by  Steve  and  he  could  slip  away,  before  Peter  realized  he’d  drank  his  last  three  Gatorades.  With  haste,  Bucky  twisted  the  cap  back  on  the  OJ  and  didn’t  bother  to  look  up  as  he  slipped  it  back  in  the  fridge.</p><p>If  Steve  was  coming  back  from  the  bedroom  maybe  he’d  thought  up  something?</p><p>In  went  the  jug.</p><p>Before  Bucky  could  hightail  it  away  from  the  pudding  cup  police,  he  was  surprised  to  hear  Peter  ask.  “What’s  up  with  the  pillow?”</p><p>Naturally,  such  language  got  Bucky’s  attention.</p><p>He  turned  and  was  greeted  to  the  sight  of  Steve  in  the  entranceway  to  the  kitchen,  holding  a  bed  pillow.  A  look  of  bewildered  surprise  on  his  friends  face.</p><p>Speaking  as  if  he  weren’t  totally  sure  himself.  Steve  shared.  “She  locked  me  out  of  our  bedroom.”</p><p>Sneaking  off  to  his  own  bedroom  was  now  pivotal  and  not  just  to  avoid  another  food  thievery  lecture.</p><p>Unable  to  even  believe  he  was  going  to  have  to  deal  with  this  now  too.  Could  Steve  ever  just  stay  out  of  trouble?  “Are  you  surprised,”  he  genuinely  wanted  to  know.  Leading  Steve  to  scowl,  roll  his  eyes  and  squeeze  his  pillow.</p><p>“Wait?  Why  did  my  sister  throw  you  out  of  bed?”</p><p>Pudding  cups  were  now  forgotten.  A  thing  of  the  past.  Gone  from  Peter’s  mind.</p><p>“Why  did  my  sister  throw  him  out  of  their  room?  Tell  me  if  you  know  old  man.”</p><p>Which  led  to  two  distinct  things  happening.  A  grin  came  over  Bucky’s  face  at  being  referred  to  as  ‘old  man.’  Which  he  found  incredibly  amusing  for  some  reason.  The  scowl  on  Steve’s  face  further  deepened.  </p><p>If  Steve  would  have  listened  to  him  in  the  first  place,  he  wouldn’t  be  holding  his  pillow  without  a  warm  bed  to  hang  out  that  night  in.  A  few  dirty  looks  from  Steve  were  nothing  Bucky  couldn’t  deal  with  and  he  felt  for  his  friend,  he  really  did.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  beginning  to  feel  like  the  old  days.</p><p>Sometimes  he  really  wondered  if  Steve  ever  listened  to  a  thing  that  came  from  his  mouth?  Or  only  half?</p><p>“Did  Steve  cheat  on  my  sister?”</p><p>Cheat  on  the  little  wife?</p><p>Merely  the  idea  was  absurd  and  with  a  pop  of  his  hip,  shutting  the  door  to  the  fridge,  Bucky  was  about  to  say  as  much.  Even  if  Steve  had  it  in  him  to  commit  adultery,  he  was  too  enamored  with  you  to  ever  stray,  even  in  the  moments  when  he’d  been  banished  from  the  bedroom,  which  in  his  opinion  were  completely  warranted.</p><p>“No!  I  did  not  cheat  on  your  sister!”</p><p>Anyone  could  have  seen  Steve’s  vehemence.  Clearly  he  was  telling  the  truth.    Not  that  Peter  seemed  to  be  calmed  by  that  outburst.</p><p>Attention  no  long  on  his  missing  pudding  cups,  which  had  been  delicious  in  Bucky’s  opinion,  the  younger  man  walked  across  the  kitchen.  Fists  clenching.  Almost  bouncing  on  the  balls  of  his  feet.  It  made  the  former  Winter  Soldier  take  notice  but  the  fact  that  it  was  the  boy  had  him  leaning  back  against  the  fridge  and  crossing  his  arms.  Little  more.</p><p>“Why  did  she  kick  you  out?  She’s  never  made  you  sleep  on  the  couch.  Ever!  What  did  you  do?”</p><p>Bucky  watched  the  younger  man  approach  his  friend  with  what  one  could  refer  to  as,  mild  interest.  Sure,  on  his  flesh  arm  goosebumps  began  to  rise.  But  he  decided  to  ignore  it.  It  was  the  boy  for  crying  out  loud.</p><p>After  all,  Steve  wasn’t  even  that  concerned.</p><p>He  held  onto  his  pillow  and  wilted.  “She  didn’t  handle  the  news  about  Zemo  well.  I  told  her  tonight  and…”  a  squeezing  of  his  nose  followed.</p><p>Peter’s  head  cocked.</p><p>Oddly,  James  felt  the  urge  to  push  himself  off  the  fridge  and  put  himself  between  the  brothers-in-law.  Weird.  Steve  would  never  hurt  your  brother.</p><p>“You  told  me  you’d  handle  that  like  two  days  ago.”</p><p>A  frustrated  noise  came  from  Steve.</p><p>It  happened  before  he  could  do  a  thing  from  his  sentinel  position  against  the  kitchen  appliance.</p><p>In  something  comparable  only  to  an  explosion,  Peter  pulled  back  and  landed  a  fist  right  square  in  Steve’s  chest.  The  sound  of  bone  cracking  was  loud  to  all  three  of  their  enhanced  ears.  Three  more  fists  landed  in  the  time  it  took  him  to  cross  the  kitchen  to  get  between  the  two  men.</p><p>Peter’s  form  was  perfect  too.  Steve  must  have  been  working  with  him  was  the  only  thing  that  came  to  Buck’s  mind.  One  fist  hit  Steve  right  beneath  the  eye,  another  split  his  lip  and  that  third  blow  landed  heavy  up  against  Steve’s  ribs  when  the  bigger  man  lifted  his  arm  to  protect  his  face.</p><p>Not  that  Peter  cared.</p><p>Peter  thought  you  knew,  he  thought  you’d  known,  he  was  under  the  assumption  that  Steve  had  been  honest  with  you.  He  never  wanted  to  hit  Steve.  He’d  never  thought  he’d  ever  hit  the  man  he’d  come  to  love  as  a  brother.</p><p>Something  metal  grabbed  his  wrist,  pulled  it  back,  made  him  rotate  but  not  step  away  and  before  he  could  help  himself,  acting  on  fury  and  instinct.  Younger.  Far  more  limber.  More  lean  muscle.  With  ease,  Peter  grunted  and  yanked  his  wrist  back,  bringing  with  him  the  super  soldier  attached.</p><p>One  of,  possibly  both  men,  called  out  his  name,  attempted  to  calm  him  down  in  vain.</p><p>Without  much  difficulty,  Peter  shoved  Bucky  aside  when  he  attempted  to  get  between  the  two  men.</p><p>Steve  gave  Peter  a  good  shove  back  too.  Attempting  to  calm  him,  reason  with  the  infuriated  younger  man.  Even  holding  up  that  damn  pillow  when  all  Peter  wanted  to  do  was  fight.  All  he  wanted  was  for  Steve  to  hit  him.  All  he  wanted  was  one  single  blow.  An  excuse,  a  reason.  He  had  to  let  it  all  out  before  it  destroyed  him.</p><p>That  morning  he  had  to  sit  there  and  watch  you  take  an  oath  to  Hydra.  After  lunch  he  had  to  be  polite  to  the  Sokovian’s  who  had  joined  in  on  his  class,  knowing  what  their  colonel  had  done  to  you.  All  week  he  had  to  watch  you  limp  and  hobble  around  the  house.  He  had  to  waste  his  time  in  classes  and  interning  under  Steve  until  he  graduated  and  could  do  something  useful,  help  out  in  ways  more  than  what  little  he  was  able  to  do  with  the  resistance.</p><p>And  now  this?</p><p>Peter  couldn’t  exactly  say  why  it  had  elicited  such  a  powerful  reaction  from  him,  all  he  knew  was  he  had  to  get  out  his  anger  before  it  consumed  him.</p><p>Another  shove  sent  Steve  back  a  few  feet.</p><p>“Peter…”</p><p>And  another,  directed  square  in  his  chest,  pushing  Steve  into  a  hallway  wall  where  his  hands  went  up  and  the  pillow  fell,  refusing  to  touch  Peter,  engage  with  Peter,  strike  your  younger  brother.</p><p>“Peter…listen.”</p><p>“She  trusted  you!  I  trusted  you!”</p><p>Once  more  Steve  tried  to  speak  calmly,  methodically.  “Listen  to  me  Peter.”  Both  the  smell  and  taste  of  his  own  blood  was  overpowering.  A  familiar  pain  in  his  side  told  Steve  that  Peter  had  cracked  three…maybe  four  ribs.  His  face  was  on  fire.  His  bottom  lip,  shit  did  it  sting.</p><p>“You  know  Steve,  I  generally  like  to  stay  out  of  my  sisters  marriage  to  you.  It’s  weird  enough  as  it  is  without  you  being  a  century  old  and  her  being  my  sister.  But  watching  the  two  of  you  completely  devolve  this  week  has  been  a  shit-show  of  epic  proportions  unseen  before  in  the  entirety  of  the  saga  that  is  the  farce  you  two  call  a  relationship!”</p><p>Which  was  when  Steve  wanted  to  argue,  attempted  to  argue.</p><p>Peter  ignored  it.</p><p>Peter  was  having  absolutely  none  of  it.</p><p>A  hand  shot  up  and  short  of  putting  his  hands  on  Peter,  or  shouting,  which  he  really  did  not  want  to  do  and  risk  you  coming  out  of  the  bedroom  to  see  this  chaos,  Steve  quieted  down.  He  could  let  Peter  say  his  peace.  If  Peter  got  whatever  it  was  off  his  chest,  maybe  he’d  calm  down?</p><p>Peter  shook.  Trembled  really.  “You  let  us  both  down  Steve.  You  have  disappointed  me  and  you  hurt  my  sister.  I  didn’t  want  to  have  to  do  this.  I  really  didn’t.  But  you  have  left  me  no  choice.  In  the  morning,  I  will  take  my  sister  to  work  and  out  to  lunch  and  then  I  will  bring  her  home.  That  should  give  you  more  than  enough  time  for  you  to  think  about  what  you  did  and  if  I  have  determined  you  are  back  in  control  of  yourself,  I’ll  make  the  determination  of  who  gets  to  keep  an  eye  on  my  sister  till  the  Zemo  issue  is  resolved.”</p><p>And  Steve  had  no  answer.</p><p>None.</p><p>Steve  could  not  believe  the  words  that  had  just  come  out  of  Peter’s  mouth.  Never  in  the  entire  time  he  knew  Peter  had  Peter  even  spoken  to  him  like  that.  Hell,  at  times  he  forgot  that  Peter  was  not  your  every  day  average  young  man.  Having  Peter  around  had  become  normal.  It  had  become  something  Steve  took  for  granted.  Having  the  younger  man  around  to  help  pick  up  slack  and  converse  with,  train  with,  workout  with…it  was  so  easy  to  fall  in  that  easy  comradery.</p><p>He  almost  missed  Bucky  coming  over  and  putting  a  hand  on  Peter’s  shoulder  entirely,  so  stunned  by  the  words  that  had  been  spoken  to  him.</p><p>“Hey.  Go  rack  up  the  balls.  I’ll  be  down  in  a  minute.  I  need  to  speak  with  Steve  for  a  second.”</p><p>Having  said  what  he  wanted  to  say  and  worked  out  whatever  physical  frustrations  he  needed  to,  Peter  said  no  more.  Merely  nodding  without  looking  away  from  your  husband  before  he  finally  turned  to  go  down  the  hallway,  where  the  door  that  led  downstairs  to  the  den  was.</p><p>Only  when  sounds  of  his  feet  had  entirely  vanished  downstairs,  did  Steve  let  out  a  breath.</p><p>Only  when  Peter  was  well  outside  of  hearing  range,  did  Bucky  finally  speak.</p><p>“We  cannot  have  this  going  on  in  this  house  with  Zemo  out  there.  This  is  what  Helmut  wants.  Instilling  chaos  and  confusion  to  overturn  and  destroy.”</p><p>“I  know.”</p><p>“If  things  aren’t  better  tomorrow.  I’m  handling  it.  They’ll  all  go  back  to  Sokovia  in  pine  boxes.”</p><p>“I  know.”</p><p>A  metal  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder  to  squeeze  tightly.  Patted  that  shoulder  and  then  handed  over  a  dish  towel  for  the  bloody  lip.</p><p>All  pudding  cups  aside  and  that  shove  forgotten  as  well,  Bucky  had  every  intention  of  speaking  to  you  in  the  morning.  To  talk  you  into  letting  Peter  join  the  Tac  Team.  Hell,  you  were  mad  at  Steve,  not  him.  If  he  gave  it  an  appropriate  amount  of  thought,  he  could  convince  you.  It  would  be  nice  to  have  someone  on  the  team  that  he  didn’t  have  to  worry  would  be  unable  to  actually  have  his  back.  </p><p>Sure,  the  resistance  members  that  he  was  adding  slowly  in,  one  by  one,  were  fine.  But  they  were  normal.  Steve  may  have  been  fine  with  it  when  he  had  nothing  to  live  for.  James  however,  he  had  the  feeling  he  was  going  to  be  here  a  while  and  he  wanted  to  have  at  least  one  person  that  he  could  trust  and  rely  on  implicitly,  since  Steve  was  now  the  Director  and  not  on  the  team  anymore.  </p><p>Why  not  the  boy?</p><p>Why  hadn’t  he  thought  about  it  before?  Rebecca  was  right.  There  was  more  to  Peter  than  met  the  eye.</p><p>“I’ll  make  it  right  Buck.”</p><p>“You  damn  well  better.”</p><p> </p><p>							***</p><p> </p><p>Not  that  Steve  had  a  chance  to  make  it  right.</p><p>After  returning  home  from  his  morning  run,  you  and  Peter  were  already  gone.  A  note  was  left  on  the  bathroom  counter  for  him  where  his  shaving  supplies  were,  letting  him  know  that  you’d  hitched  a  ride  with  your  brother.</p><p>This  was  not  a  shock  to  Steve.  </p><p>However,  he  was  not  pleased.</p><p>You’d  been  riding  with  him  to  work  since  you  started  going  to  work  again.  Even  before,  when  Alexander  Pierce  was  alive  and  you’d  been  his  personal  assistant.</p><p>God  were  those  good  days.</p><p>Such  thoughts  put  Steve  in  something  of  a  foul  mood  that  only  grew  fouler  as  the  day  went  on.  In  meetings  where  you  should  have  been  but  weren’t,  due  to  your  making  the  circuits  on  all  local  morning  news  programs  to  continue  getting  information  out  about  Maria’s  kidnapping  and  her  husband’s  attack  in  their  home.</p><p>Of  course  Steve  was  proud,  happy  even,  that  you  were  able  to  so  seamlessly  slide  into  that  role  for  him.  Because  you  sure  as  hell  weren’t  doing  it  for  Hydra.  Not  one  phone  call  from  any  news  outlet  had  reached  his  desk.  Nor  had  anyone  come  to  tell  him  there  were  reporters  outside  for  him.</p><p>Maria’s  face  was  everywhere.</p><p>He’d  seen  it  on  morning  papers  and  flashing  on  every  TV  in  the  building.  There  were  Missing  Posters  all  over.</p><p>In  fact,  he’d  seen  more  of  you  on  the  TV  than  he  saw  of  you  in  person.</p><p>Which  further  pissed  him  off.</p><p>Sure  to  Peter’s  word  last  night,  the  little  shit  took  you  to  lunch.  You  were  already  in  and  out  of  your  office  and  gone  by  the  time  Steve  heard  you  were  back  from  your  press  briefing  in  a  packed  media  room  downstairs.</p><p>And  he  wasn’t  mad  at  you.</p><p>He  wasn’t  mad  at  Peter.</p><p>He  was  just  mad.</p><p>Usually  Hydra  bore  the  brunt  of  his  ire.  Now  though,  now  there  was  an  additional  target  for  that  energy  to  be  directed  at  and  if  the  mere  thought  of  that  man  didn’t  make  him  want  to  just  scream.</p><p>Rage  was  good.  Rage  Steve  was  comfortable  with  and  could  understand,  channel.  Rage  was  familiar.</p><p>Zemo  almost  had  him.</p><p>Bucky  was  right.</p><p>Steve  had  looked  up  Helmut  Zemo.  </p><p>He’d  been  a  colonel  of  a  Sokovian  Death  Squad.  An  expert  tactician  like  Steve.  A  master  of  Psychological  Warfare.  The  man  was  beyond  patient  from  what  he’d  seen  and  now  knew  firsthand  how  manipulative  Helmut  was,  considering  how  deep  he’d  gotten  under  Steve’s  skin.</p><p>Bucky  had  seen  it.</p><p>Steve  couldn’t  have  been  more  grateful  for  his  lifelong  friend.  He’d  held  them  all  together  while  their  lives  fell  apart.</p><p>Now  Steve  saw  it  so  clearly.  Steve  could  see  how  easily  Zemo  had  nearly  destroyed  his  entire  life  by  what  he’d  done  to  you.  And  he  hadn’t  even  mailed  you  home  to  Steve  in  little  pieces.  That  thought  alone  sat  with  him  through  his  morning  meetings.  The  fate  that  you  very  nearly  endured.  </p><p>Ensuring  that  his  anger  continued  to  rise.</p><p>Having  had  time  to  look  through  the  Sokovian’s  personnel  file  was  enlightening.  Having  had  time  to  himself,  without  you  or  Peter  or  Bucky,  helped  him  see  things  a  bit  clearer.  </p><p>No  wonder  all  the  wives  had  vanished  with  no  more  than  a  ripple  on  the  proverbial  surface.</p><p>There  was  another  predator  lurking  around  the  Hydra  offices  and  unfortunately,  that  predator  had  distracted  Steve  for  a  few  days.  Having  the  benefit  of  hindsight  now,  Steve  could  see  his  mistakes  over  the  past  few  days.  Not  that  he  would  add  lying  to  you  totally  on  that  pile.  He  was  only  half  sorry  about  that  and  that  only  covered  the  deed,  not  the  reasoning  why.  Steve  would  never  apologize  for  wanting  you  to  feel  safe.  </p><p>Indeed  Bucky  had  been  right  about  that,  he  could  have  handled  it  far  better.</p><p>Finding  himself  thinking  such  thoughts  on  his  way  back  to  his  own  literal  closet  of  an  office  in  the  convention  center,  Steve  paused  when  he  passed  a  shut  door.</p><p>A  piece  of  paper  was  taped  to  said  door  with  a  black  marker  spelling  out  <em>Captain  Barnes</em>.</p><p>It  wasn’t  that  the  door  was  closed.  </p><p>Bucky  shut  his  office  door  all  the  time  so  he  didn’t  have  to  interact  with  people.  People  were  one  of  the  many  things  he  found  himself  really  disliking  around  the  office.</p><p>Nor  was  it  the  words  he  heard  the  new  Captain  Hydra  speaking  with  his  enhanced  hearing.</p><p>“<em>Try  this  one.  It’s  a  nice  lightweight  one.  Good  balance.  Sharp  enough  to  go  through  muscle  and  tendon  without  any  difficulty.  Easy  to  conceal  in  the  office.  See  how  it  feels  in  your  hand.</em>”</p><p>Sounds  of  Bucky  arming  someone  weren’t  too  alarming.</p><p>While  Bucky  was  fond  of  all  weapons.  He  had  a  special  relationship  with  his  knives.</p><p>Instead,  it  was  the  distinctive  smell  of  your  perfume  that  had  Steve  turning  the  knob  to  the  shut  door,  pushing  the  door  in  enough  for  him  to  lean  in  and  catch  sight  of  you  and  his  childhood  friend.</p><p>As  expected,  there  you  stood,  a  slim  knife  that  resemble  a  letter  opener  in  hand.  Except  with  an  incredibly  sharp  double-sided  blade  made  for  more  than  paper.  Steve  watched  his  friend  adjust  your  grip  on  the  handle  and  show  you  how  to  hold  it.  Which  wasn’t  exactly  his  proudest  moment  as  your  husband.  But  it  didn’t  bother  him  as  much  as  he  thought  it  might.</p><p>At  first,  you  didn’t  notice  him.</p><p>Why  would  you?</p><p>Your  back  was  to  him  and  your  attention  was  solely  on  Bucky.  Yes,  Steve  noticed  that  too.  Usually  that  level  of  attention  was  reserved  for  magazine  quizzes  or  applying  liquid  eye  liner.</p><p>Crossing  his  arms,  Steve  leaned  in  the  doorway  and  watched.</p><p>Not  that  Buck  didn’t  notice  him.</p><p>Why  wouldn’t  he?</p><p>“What  you  want  to  do  is  buy  yourself  enough  time  to  get  away.  If  you  have  to  pull  this  knife,  you’re  already  in  danger.  Do  not  attack.  Let  your  attacker  come  to  you.  You  do  not  have  the  upper  body  strength  to  put  this  through  a  sternum,  and  with  your  luck,  you’ll  hit  a  rib  if  you  go  for  a  lung.”  The  brunet  instructed  in  his  red  and  black  stealth  suit.  Showing  you  with  a  hand  over  yours  holding  the  knife  to  his  body.  Giving  you  a  visual  aide  for  all  these  locations.  “Go  for  the  Brachial  Artery  inside  the  arm.  Here.  In  under  a  minute  the  person  will  be  unconscious.  Or,  the  neck,  two  major  arteries  are  up  here.  Jugular  or  the  Carotid.  Both  will  result  in  death  in  under  a  minute.  Personally,  I’d  go  for  the  neck  arteries.  Easier  to  get  to  and  closer  to  the  skin  surface.”</p><p>None  of  which  was  bad  advice.</p><p>Hell,  Steve  would  have  told  you  the  same  thing.  Practically  silent,  he  continued  to  watch.  Blocking  the  doorway  with  his  body  and  holding  the  door  partially  closed  with  his  leg.  Affording  them  both  some  privacy  in  the  office.</p><p>“If  all  else  fails.  Stab  him  in  the  eye.  People  get  very  upset  when  they  get  stabbed  in  the  eye.”</p><p>No  truer  words  had  been  uttered  that  day  in  Steve’s  opinion.</p><p>A  slightly  concerned  noise  came  from  you.</p><p>“Don’t  worry  about  it.  You’re  not  going  to  engage.  All  you  need  to  do  is  get  away  from  the  danger.  If  all  else  fails.  Aim  for  the  stomach  and  gut.  It’s  soft,  exposed,  painful  and  any  piercing  wound  there  will  end  up  in  a  probable  lethal  infection.”</p><p>Steve  watched  Bucky  lead  your  blade  holding  hand  lightly  across  his  stomach.  The  tip  scratching  roughly  against  the  tough  crimson  and  black  fabric,  as  he  showed  you  movements  that  would  easily  penetrate  the  stomach  and  or  gut  at  minimum,  possibly  even  disembowel  someone.</p><p>“Buck’s  right,  Doll.  I  don’t  want  you  trying  to  fight  someone.  Maiming  them  in  the  face  or  severing  an  artery  is  more  than  sufficient.”</p><p>You  jumped,  turned,  at  the  rasp  of  his  voice.</p><p>No,  Steve  didn’t  want  you  fighting  anyone  if  you  didn’t  have  to.  Obviously,  as  events  had  proven  over  the  week,  that  choice  was  not  up  to  him.  Leaving  Steve  fine  with  Bucky  showing  you  how  to  severely  mutilate  someone  with  a  knife.</p><p>Peggy  had  told  Steve  to  start  over.</p><p>And  he  had.  Somehow.  In  some  way,  after  everything  that  had  happened,  he  had  started  over  in  his  own  way.  Using  what  had  been  allowed  him  these  days,  he’d  managed  to  start  over.  Not  much  of  anything  was  the  same  since  he’d  woken  up  from  the  ice.  Still  though,  he’d  adapted  and  had  made  a  new  life  with  you  and  Bucky  and  Peter.  Assuring  a  part  of  him  that  while  everything  changed,  some  things  did  come  full  circle  and  in  their  own  ways  stayed  the  same.</p><p>Looking  at  you  was  proof  enough.</p><p>“You’re  gonna  have  to  take  her  home  Steve,”  came  from  Bucky.</p><p>Leading  him  to lift  his  eyebrows  and  lean  heavier  against  the  doorframe.  </p><p>“Bucky’s  holding  tryouts  to  anyone  in  the  Security  Academy  who  would  like  to  be  accepted  onto  the  Tactical  Team.”  </p><p>Such  words  came  from  you,  as  you  slipped  the  knife  very  carefully  into  your  binders  on  Bucky’s  mostly  empty  desk.  Making  Bucky  cock  his  head  in  agreement  and  earn  a  somewhat  entertained  look  from  Steve.  Steve  who  divided  his  attention  between  mild  amusement  at  his  friend  and  noticing  the  curve  of  your  body  beneath  your  midnight  blue  dress.</p><p>It  was  far  from  indecent.  </p><p>However,  you  could  make  anything  look  that  way.  Dark  sleeves  reached  your  wrists.  Buttons  nearly  reached  your  collarbones  and  the  skirt  swirled  around  your  calves.  Still  though,  a  belt  synched  your  waist,  accentuating  your  figure.  </p><p>“Try  not  to  kill  any  of  them,”  was  all  Steve  had  to  say  on  that  matter.</p><p>In  response,  Bucky  actually  had  the  audacity  to  look  annoyed  which  pleased  Steve  to  no  end.  If  he’d  finally  managed  to  get  your  blessing  in  letting  Peter  join  the  tac  team,  then  he  could  suffer  through  whatever  complications  came  from  avoiding  the  appearance  of  favoritism,  or  drawing  attention  to  the  boy.</p><p>To  say  you  were  not  pleased  about  Peter  trying  out  for  the  team  would  have  been  an  understatement.</p><p>On  the  other  hand,  Peter  had  been  begging  you  to  be  ok  with  it  for  months.</p><p>Months!</p><p>Peter  had  finally  stopped  asking  and  then  what  happened?  Bucky  brings  it  up  over  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  nice  lunch  out  at  your  favorite  Greek  place.</p><p>Resulting  in  an  incredibly  surprised  Peter  and  you  nearly  choking  to  death  on  the  mouthful  of  gyro  you’d  been  eating.  Had  Peter  not  looked  downright  stunned,  you  would  have  absolutely  refused  the  second  you  were  able  to  breathe  fully.  </p><p>Although,  since  it  was  Bucky  that  had  given  you  a  few  good  whacks  on  the  back  to  dislodge  lunch,  you’d  heard  him  out.  He  had  been  quite  convincing  in  explaining  how  Peter  needed  to  have  training  with  the  amount  of  strength  he  possessed.  More  so  than  the  physical  training  and  conditioning  that  Steve  put  Peter  through  on  a  daily  basis.  And  you  found  you  couldn’t  disagree  with  the  metal  armed  man.  Most  definitely  not  when  he  let  you  have  his  extra  cucumber  sauce.</p><p>Quite  simply,  James  explained  to  you  that  Peter  needed  to  know  how  to  kill  people.  As  the  course  in  which  all  your  lives  was  on  continued  pretty  steadily.  Peter  needed  to  learn  how  to  become  part  of  a  team.  Peter  was,  after  all,  already  a  man.</p><p>Most  of  all  though,  Bucky  simply  told  you  that  you  were  all  in  this  together  and  he  wanted  to  spend  more  time  getting  to  know  your  brother.</p><p>Naturally,  this  took  you  by  surprise.</p><p>Having  absolutely  no  idea  what  on  earth  had  transpired  between  your  brother  and  Bucky,  or,  as  you  heard  the  two  men  refer  to  one  another,  <em>the  boy</em>  and  <em>that  pudding  cup  stealing  commie</em>,  you  weren’t  upset  by  whatever  it  may  have  been,  so  you  agreed.</p><p>“How’d  Bucky  get  you  to  go  along  with  it?”</p><p>Not  one  bit  surprised  by  Steve’s  irritated  question,  you  found  yourself  smoothing  your  hands  over  the  front  of  your  dress.  Pulled  from  thoughts  of  your  weird  lunch,  as  your  husband  did  his  very  best  to  act  like  he  wasn’t  a  ball  of  barely  contained  antagonism.</p><p>You  gathered  your  binders  together  so  you  could  return  to  your  office.  Across  the  hall  and  two  doors  down.  Pondering  saying  something  that  you  knew  would  get  him  even  more  riled  up.</p><p>You  were  saved  by  Bucky.</p><p>“Don’t  worry  about  it  Steve.”</p><p>“I  kinda  feel  like  I  should  Buck.”</p><p>“Really,  you  don’t,”  declared  the  steely  armed  pudding  thief.  “We  have  far  more  interesting  news  for  you.”</p><p>Leading  Steve  to  wait  with  baited  breath  as  only  he  could,  while  he  held  up  the  doorframe  and  his  friend  scooted  out  from  behind  you.  Soon  needing  to  be  down  in  the  gym  for  the  aforementioned  tryouts.  </p><p>Reaching  up  to  slide  fingers  through  his  dark  hair,  in  order  to  pull  it  up  and  back,  James’s  metal  arm  shifted  around  beneath  his  heavy  suit,  brushed  against  the  fabric  and  made  little  noises  that  were  unique  only  to  him.  “Chypre.”  He  pleasantly  told  Steve,  followed  by,  “And  let  me  go  ahead  and  apologize  now.  Whenever  you  get  back  to  your  office,  you  should  have  several  calls  from  the  Sokovian  Embassy.”</p><p>Blue  eyes  darker  than  Bucky’s  darted  your  way  that  you  intentionally  avoided.</p><p>“And  why’s  that  and  what’s  that?  Chipper?”  Steve  genuinely  wanted  to  know.  Out  of  mild  curiosity.  </p><p>Not  even  bothering  to  correct  Steve’s  pronunciation.  Knowing  that  he’d  need  more  than  a  fair  share  of  Steve’s  patience.  Buck  crossed  the  small  office  space  so  he  could  speak  in  a  lower  voice,  so  as  not  to  announce  to  the  few  people  milling  around  outside  what  he  had  done  because  of  you.</p><p>“It’s  a  ladies  perfume  from  the  old  USSR.  One  that  your  wife  recognized  from  her  encounter  at  Target,  down  in  the  elevator,  and  guess  who  was  wearing  it?”</p><p>There  was  no  need  to  guess.</p><p>Eyebrows  rose  in  surprise.</p><p>You  made  sure  to  pointedly  focus  on  discreetly  hiding  your  new  weapon  super  well.</p><p>“Most  probably  him.  He  was  in  a  sea  of  Sokovian’s,  so  any  of  them  could  have  been  wearing  it  and  since  your  wife  had  what  we’ll  call  a  <em>visceral</em>  reaction  to  the  smell,  all  over  the  floor  and  the  boots  of  three  Sokovian’s,  along  with  our  favorite  colonel.  I  accused  them  all  of  setting  off  a  chemical  weapon  in  the  elevator.  Being  a  loyal  Hydra  servant  since  the  forties,  HR  took  my  word  for  it  over  theirs  and  when  they  denied  it,  they  were  removed  from  the  premises  and  the  elevator  has  been  closed  for  hazmat.”</p><p>All  of  it,  every  single  word,  it  made  Steve  blink  and  shake  his  head  and  think  and  look  between  the  two  of  you.</p><p>You  who  refused  to  look  at  him.</p><p>His  best  friend  who  didn’t  even  have  the  decency  to  look  even  a  little  ashamed  of  himself.</p><p>How  eloquently  he  had  phrased  it.</p><p>It  didn’t  feel  anywhere  near  that  easy  or  casual,  and  you  had  to  salute  Bucky  for  his  discretion.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>All  of  it  was  still  a  blur.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>All  of  it  had  happened  so  quickly.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Coming  back  from  lunch  had  been  light,  easy.  You’d  spent  all  morning  on  camera  or  speaking  with  reporters,  giving  out  every  detail  you  could  think  up  to  try  and  get  all  the  information  out  so  Maria  could  be  found.  Hour  after  hour  after  hour  that  morning  had  been  spent  in  that  pursuit.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Needless  to  say,  you’d  been  ravenous  by  the  time  lunch  rolled  around  and  maybe,  in  your  haste  to  get  out  of  the  house  before  Steve  returned  so  you  didn’t  have  to  speak  to  him,  you’d  skipped  breakfast.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>A  bottle  of  water  hadn’t  been  enough.  Making  you  inhale  your  lunch,  which,  unfortunately,  came  back  up  before  you  could  begin  to  help  yourself.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Half  a  sleeve  of  crackers  now  filled  your  tummy  from  Bucky’s  desk  drawer.  A  bottle  of  water  too.  He  may  not  have  had  a  single  office  supply  in  his  office.  On  the  other  hand,  he  did  have  enough  weapons  to  take  a  submarine  and  enough  snacks  to  last  overnight.</p><p>Words  were  exchanged  between  the  two  super  soldiers.</p><p>A  phone  call  without  a  doubt  awaited  him.</p><p>Not  that  Steve  was  at  all  angry.  In  fact,  he  nodded  as  if  in  total  agreement.  “No  problem.  I’ll  deal  with  it.”  And  then,  as  if  realizing  something  of  vital  importance,  Steve  threw  out,  “You  said  it  was  a  woman’s  perfume,”  as  you  followed  Bucky  over  to  Steve  since  he  was  going  to  have  to  head  down  to  the  gym  soon.</p><p>Whomever  the  perfume  or  cologne  had  been  made  for  was  totally  irrelevant,  in  your  book  anyway.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Like  it  was  its  own  living  thing,  it  had  slammed  into  you.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>In  absolutely  no  way  had  you  been  prepared.  Nope.  You’d  been  minding  your  own  business.  Digesting  lunch.  Waiting  on  the  elevator  while  Bucky  fussed  with  his  watch  in  the  busy  downstairs,  as  everyone  came  back  from  their  lunches,  when  with  a  ding  the  old  noisy  elevator  arrived.  Sounding  as  if  it  would  drop  any  second.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Dirty  dented  doors  opened  and  the  smell  assaulted  you.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>And  for  a  fleeting  moment,  you  could  actually  feel  yourself  have  an  out  of  body  experience.  Your  blood  went  cold.  Something  twisted  painfully  in  your  stomach,  as  if  someone  jammed  a  pitchfork  in  and  twisted.  That  heady  scent  made  your  brain  scream  at  you  to  run!  Get  away!  You  weren’t  safe!  You  had  to  get  away!</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Looking  into  Colonel  Helmut  Zemo’s  eyes,  then,  inhaling  that  scent,  seeing  something  close  to  amusement  flicker  in  those  rich  orbs.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>It  was  him.  It  was  your  attacker.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Somehow  you  knew.  Your  body  knew.  It  was  that  smell  that  brought  you  back  there  and  the  next  thing  you  knew,  you  were  getting  physically  sick  all  over  his  legs  and  feet,  someone  else’s  legs  and  feet  too.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Your  body  reacted  to  the  olfactory  sensation  all  on  its  own.  </strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>A  switch  had  been  flipped  and  you  physically  reacted.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Revulsion.  Terror.  Unadulterated  panic.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>A  rolling  swelled  in  your  stomach  and  before  you  could  even  process  it,  you  were  violently  ill.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>“Yeah.  It’s  an  old  Soviet  brand.  There  wasn’t  one  woman  on  the  elevator.  Maybe  it  belonged  to  his  dead  wife?”</p><p>Belonged  to  Helmut’s  dead  wife?</p><p>Steve  could  understand  that.  Steve  could  understand  losing  his  mind  over  the  death  of  his  own  wife.  To  lose  a  wife  and  son?  Steve  could  not  even  imagine  that  level  of  loss  and  pain  and  devastation.  Wearing  his  dead  wife’s  perfume  would  be  reasonable  in  that  situation.  Hell,  burning  down  the  world  would  have  been  reasonable  too.</p><p>Attacking  you  though,  no,  that  was  Steve’s  line  in  the  sand.</p><p>Vengeance.  Rage.</p><p>Both  were  things  that  Steve  was  intimately  familiar.</p><p>As  the  equally  sizable  super  soldier  pushed  past  Steve  to  head  out  of  his  office,  he  patted  Steve’s  broad  shoulder.  “We’ll  talk  later  at  home.”</p><p>In  response,  all  Steve  could  do  was  nod  in  agreement,  eyes  solely  focused  on  you.  Bucky  was  right.  This  was  neither  the  time  nor  place  to  have  this  particular  conversation.</p><p>“Be  careful  with  the  interns.  No  broken  bones  Buck  and  you  need  to  have  two  or  three  make  the  team.”  Which  was  code.  Both  men  had  become  something  of  experts  in  creating  it  for  talk  around  the  office,  where  ears  could  be  listening  in.  It  may  have  sounded  like  genuine  concern  to  people  milling  around  nearby.</p><p>It  was  code  for  <em>Don’t  kill  any  of  them  and  don’t  draw  attention  to  Peter  by  only  accepting  him  on  the  team</em>.</p><p>Fully  understanding,  Bucky  called  out,  “See  you  at  home,”  as  he  then  headed  down  the  hallway.</p><p>You  were  trapped,  unable  to  leave.</p><p>Not  because  Steve  was  blocking  the  door.  Not  even  when  Steve  stepped  inside  the  bare  minimum  of  an  office  and  shut  that  door,  turned  the  lock.  No.  You  were  unable  to  leave  because  he  was  pinning  you  in  place  with  his  eyes.  </p><p>Like  some  sort  of  forest  creature  transfixed  by  a  spotlight.  You  could  not  move.  You  could  barely  breathe.</p><p>As  if  your  day  hadn’t  been  challenging  enough.</p><p>Tightly  you  gripped  your  binders  to  your  chest.  As  if  that  could  help  protect  and  steel  you  for  whatever  was  about  to  come  your  way.</p><p>“I’m  sorry.”</p><p>Sorry?</p><p>He  was  sorry?</p><p>This  was  a  surprise.  Not  as  much  of  a  surprise  as  backing  into  the  old  desk.  Obviously  there  wasn’t  much  in  it,  as  it  skidded  a  smidge  upon  impact.</p><p>“I  apologize  for  lying  to  you.  I  should  have  told  you  sooner.  You  deserved  to  know  we  were  suspicious  of  him.”  Came  your  husband’s  voice,  even  though  he  never  looked  away  from  you.  Never  broke  eye  contact.  Never  allowed  you  to  look  away.  “But  I’m  not  sorry  for  wanting  to  protect  you.  I  never  wanted  to  see  you  terrified  here.  As  absurd  as  it  sounds,  you  should  feel  safe  here.”</p><p>Absurd  was  a  good  word  for  it.  </p><p>Safe  in  the  den  of  the  enemy.  Absurdity  at  its  finest.</p><p>Though  you  said  nothing  at  first,  you  didn’t  pull  away  or  move  when  legs  pressed  against  your  own.  As  a  far  larger  body  slid  up  along  the  front  of  you.  Your  binders  were  taken  from  you  and  set  on  the  desk.  Probably  the  most  work  the  desk  had  seen  since  Bucky  moved  into  the  office.  Nearly  each  time  you  found  him  in  here,  he  was  napping.  Not  wanting  to  waste  his  precious  time  away  from  the  office  resting.</p><p>“That  is  pretty  absurd,”  you  conceded.  Finally  dropping  your  eyes  to  somewhere  around  his  sternum.  Finding  your  fingers  reaching  out  to  toy  with  his  dangling  tie.  A  dark  grey  in  color.  Silk.  Soft.  Smooth.</p><p>“Are  you  mad?  I’m  not  gonna  lie  Doll.  I’m  having  a  very  hard  time  reading  you  when  you  aren’t  yelling  at  me.”</p><p>Such  sentiment  made  you  lift  your  face  up,  catch  his  eyes  and  the  florescent  lights  above.  Flickering  lights  contrasted  wildly  with  white-ish  ceiling  tiles  that  probably  needed  a  change  a  decade  ago.  Because  of  course  he  was  used  to  you  yelling  and  shouting  at  him.  Yesterday  you’d  antagonized  the  shit  out  of  him.  Oh  yesterday.  How  far  away  that  felt.</p><p>This  quiet  contemplativeness  was  so  not  you.  Making  you  inhale  deeply.  Tug  gently  on  his  tie  in  an  almost  random  sort  of  way.</p><p>It’d  been  something  of  a  week.  </p><p>You  were  drained. </p><p>Emotionally  and  physically  drained.</p><p>Scrunching  up  your  face,  you  tried  to  think  of  a  way  to  tell  your  husband  this  without  making  him  worry  more  than  he  clearly  already  was.  All  you  wanted  to  do  was  crawl  into  bed  and  sleep  for  a  few  days.  A  good  meal,  a  nice  hot  bath  and  about  seventy-two  hours  of  uninterrupted  sleep  would  get  you  back  on  your  feet.  “I’m  just  tired.  If  I  can  get  a  good  night’s  sleep,  I’ll  yell  at  you  first  thing  in  the  morning.”  By  morning  you  were  positive  that  you’d  have  a  nice  fiery  response  for  all  those  words  he’d  strung  together  and  thrown  at  you,  in  the  alleged  form  of  an  apology.</p><p>Yes,  tomorrow  would  be  better.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Later  that  evening…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Takeout  boxes  littered  the  coffee  table  in  the  downstairs den  from  your  favorite  Thai  place,  in  what  looked  like  some  manner  of  feast.  More  menu  items  than  you  could  remember  ever  seeing.  There  had  to  be  doubles,  possibly  some  triples  of  dishes.</p><p>Perhaps  Steve  sensed  that  dinner  was  not  something  that  you  wanted  to  be  bothered  by.  Or  perhaps  it  was  in  celebration  of  Peter  being  made  a  member  of  the  Tactical  Team,  after  a  rousing  time  in  the  gym  throwing  around  Tac  Team  Members.</p><p>You  were  proud.</p><p>How  could  you  not  be?</p><p>You  were  also  terrified  and  come  morning,  you  expected  that  particular  bubble  to  burst  too.  </p><p>Morning  was  another  time  though.</p><p>You  would  deal  with  Steve  and  Peter  and  even  Bucky  come  morning.  Before  morning however,  you  had  big  plans  for  a  steamy  bubble  bath  and  a  glass  of  wine.  You’d  curl  up  in  bed  and  even  allow  Steve  in,  since  you’d  slept  like  shit  alone  last  night.  Perhaps  contributing  to  your  exhausted  state.  Come  morning,  when  you  were  on  your  game,  you  knew  you  could  find  a  way  to  blame  Steve  for  your  not  sleeping  well.  So  what  if  you  you  threw  him  out  of  bed  the  previous  night.  When  you  were  fully  charged,  you  were  so  able  to make  those  leaps.</p><p>A  good-nights  sleep.  That’s  what  you  needed.  That  was  all  you  needed.</p><p>Having  dumped  some  utterly  tasty  Pork  Bean  Sprouts  over  your  Pad  Thai,  you  lifted  the  plate  to  your  mouth  to  eat  as  much  food  as  possible.  Not  caring  at  all  how  unladylike  it  was,  or  what  it  said  about  your  manners.</p><p>Peter  sat  on  the  floor  across  from  you,  eating  with  what  one  would  call  fervor.  While  Steve  stood  up  at  the  wall  of  writing  and  maps  and  stuff,  a  takeout  container  in  hand,  making  more  notes  that  Peter  dictated  between  bites.</p><p>You  cared,  really  you  did.  But  you  were  ready  for  bed.</p><p>You  would  leave  this  up  to  the  three  super-humans  you  shared  a  house  with,  once  you  finished  inhaling  dinner.</p><p>Up  behind  you,  seated  on  the  couch  was  Bucky.  Bucky  who  patted  your  shoulder  with  the  cordless  phone.</p><p>It  had  rung  a  minute  or  so  ago.</p><p>When  Bucky  actually  answered  it,  you  assumed  he  recognized  the  number.  As  answering  the  phone  was  not  high  on  his  list  of  preferred  tasks.  You’d  merely  listened  to  Peter  call  out  streets  that  could  possibly  be  travelled  by  Helmut  with  minimal  CCTV  cameras  and  low  pedestrian  traffic.</p><p>Later,  Steve  and  Bucky  would  go  cruising  around  some  of  those  streets  to  see  if  anything  stood  out.</p><p>“Here,”  Bucky  grunted  at  you,  dropping  the  cordless  phone  in  your  lap.  “I  can’t  understand  her  when  she’s  like  that.”</p><p>Such  talk  from  Bucky?</p><p>A  look  of  true  discomfort  was  on  his  face.</p><p>You  were  perplexed  and  wildly  curious.  Whom  was  he  on  the  phone  with?  Her?  Bucky  knew  three  her’s  and  you  were  one.  Narrowing  the  caller  down  to  his  sister  or  his  girlfriend.  So  as  you  managed  to  balance  your  plate,  you  grabbed  the  plastic  phone.  </p><p>Before  you  even  pressed  it  against  your  ear  you  heard  shouting,  possibly  screaming,  definitely  shrieking  and  maybe  even  crying.</p><p>“Rebecca?”  Was  your  first  guess.</p><p>All  hysterics  stopped  for  a  second.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Or  maybe  it  was  Rumlow’s  Widow?  It  didn’t  really  sound  like  someone  Rebecca’s  age.</p><p>“Oh  thank  god  it’s  you!  You  have  to  come  get  me!  Now!  Please!  I  got  away  but  he’s  going  to  come  back,  I  know  he  is!  You  have  to  come  get  me  now!  Now!  Please!  Now!”  Screamed  Maria  Hill,  over  the  phone  at  you,  hysterics  rising  slowly  once  more.  “Please!  Please!  You  have  to  come!  You  have  to!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Authors Notes:  Hello friendly reader!! I wanted to chime in here before any reading is done. I had to split this chapter up into two, as it was far too long and I didn't want to distract from any one part. I do apologize for the delay in posting. I have the rest of this story all plotted out and with life calming down, I'm hoping to finish it up by the end of March. I may be feeling a bit bummed its nearly over. But I am of the firm opinion a story should go out on a high note and I am convinced people will eventually get sick of my nonsense.  XD</p>
<p>***Content Warning too*** This chapter has violence in a murder and a verbal fight. Emotions are high in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Originally,  you  thought  that  your  luck  was  changing.  You  thought  that  tides  were  turning.  Hell,  you  thought  that  maybe,  just  maybe,  maybe  your  run  of  bad  luck  had  come  to  an  end.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Just,  no.</p>
<p>It  simply  was  not  meant  to  be.</p>
<p>After  getting  the  call  from  Maria,  your  evening  began  its  steady  decline  downwards.  Picking  up  speed  with  every  passing  second  it  really  felt  like,  as  you  and  Peter  took  your  car  to  cover  twice  the  amount  of  area.</p>
<p>Maria  hadn’t  been  able  to  pinpoint  where  exactly  she  was  other  than  the  old  docks  and  warehouses.  Bucky  had  been  unable  to  understand  her  and  you  weren’t  even  going  to  hand  the  phone  over  to  Peter  or  Steve.  Somehow  you  doubted  they  would  be  any  better  at  calming  her  down  enough  to  get  some  useful  information.</p>
<p>Alas,  you  were  hopeful.</p>
<p>Between  you  and  Peter,  plus  Bucky  and  Steve  in  the  truck,  you  were  convinced  that  one  of  your  two  search  parties  would  find  Maria.  </p>
<p>For  crying  out  loud,  you  had  two  super  soldiers  plus  Peter’s  super  senses.</p>
<p>You  sincerely  thought  that  maybe  things  were  finally  beginning  to  turn  in  your  favor.  Especially  when  Peter  took  his  third  right  turn,  slowly  creeping  down  a  road  that  now  was  covered  with  abandoned  and  dilapidated  warehouses.  Both  of  you  looking  all  around,  at  buildings  and  rusty  chain  link  fences.  </p>
<p>In  your  personal  opinion,  it  was  beyond  creepy.</p>
<p>It  was  creeptastic.</p>
<p>It  felt  like  you  were  creeping  through  a  horror  movie.</p>
<p>In  fact,  you  were  about  to  ask  Peter  if  his  tingle  was  picking  up  any  sort  of  news,  or  feelings…any  helpful  tingles.  He  didn’t  like  it  when  you  compared  his  tingle  to  Lassie,  but,  it  kinda  was  like  Lassie.  Not  in  a  weird  way  or  anything.</p>
<p>“There  she  is.  Right  there.”</p>
<p>In  true  horror  film  fashion,  you  whipped  around  to  look  where  Peter  pointed  out  his  window.  He  stopped  the  car  as  Maria  came  running  out  from  behind  what  looked  like  a  massive  pile  of  scrap  metal.</p>
<p>Neither  of  you  even  had  a  chance  to  unbuckle  your  seat  belts.</p>
<p>Maria  Hill  Santiago,  as  the  kids  said,  hauled  ass  into  the  road  and  over  to  your  car,  where  she  yanked  open  the  passenger  door  behind  Peter,  threw  herself  into  the  backseat,  slammed  the  door  and  shouted  at  him  to  drive.  </p>
<p>“Drive!  Drive!  Drive!  Go!  Before  he  comes  back!”</p>
<p>Naturally,  this  got  your  attention.</p>
<p>You  turned  around  in  your  seat  as  Peter  began  to  drive,  you  assumed  home,  but  who  knew,  all  you  could  focus  on  was  Maria.</p>
<p>Maria  who  looked  like  she’d  been  through  a  warzone.</p>
<p>She  was  less  bloodied  than  you’d  been,  more  roughed  up,  you  noticed.  Sure,  she  had  bruises  and  cuts  and  scrapes,  plus  a  pair  of  handcuffs  dangled  from  one  wrist.  But  she  didn’t  look  like  someone  had  tried  to  murder  her  with  their  bare  hands.  Something  was  wrong…something  wasn’t  right.</p>
<p>Not  that  you  said  anything,  you  were  a  victim  of  the  purple  masked  man  too.  Which  found  you  leaning  into  the  back  seat  to  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  do  your  best  to  calm  and  soothe  Maria,  who  still  had  her  work  clothes  on.</p>
<p>“Maria!  Maria…Maria,  you’re  safe,  we’re  here,  Steve  and  Bucky  are  out  here  looking  for  you  too.  He  can’t  get  to  you.  You’re  safe  with  us.”  And  as  you  said  those  words,  you  knew  they  wouldn’t  help,  they  were  meaningless.  Maria  looked  terrified.  Her  blue  eyes  looked  about  ready  to  pop  out  of  her  head.  She  gripped  the  seats,  breathed  deeply  and  kept  her  body  hunched  low  as  she  looked  out  the  windows.</p>
<p>“Where  is  he  Maria?  Do  you  know  where  he  went?”</p>
<p>Totally  legitimate  questions  you  thought  as  the  industrial  area  slowly  passed  by  the  windows,  passed  by  the  back  window  behind  Maria’s  head.</p>
<p>Completely  distracted  and  with  a  gravelly  voice,  she  answered.  “To  go  see  Phil.”</p>
<p>To  go  see  Phil?</p>
<p>Why  would  the  man  who  attacked  you  go  see  Phil?  He  didn’t  go  after  men.  Your  brain  was  having  difficulty  with  it.  Purple  mask  had  never  attacked  men  to  the  best  of  your  knowledge  anyway.  Had  you  totally  missed  something?</p>
<p>“Why?  Why  would  he  do  that,”  Peter  asked,  his  soft  voice  cutting  through  the  cloud  of  confusion  in  your  head.</p>
<p>Yeah.  Why?</p>
<p>Still  not  looking  at  you,  Maria’s  head  bobbed  in  a  way  that  reminded  you  of  a  boxer  and  you  leaned  back,  pulled  back  into  the  front  because  that  bad  feeling  was  growing,  digging  on  in  there,  burrowing  deep  like  a  parasite.</p>
<p>“Because  I  told  him  to,”  Maria  answered,  she  finally  looked  at  you,  finally  gave  you  her  attention  as  she  completely  shattered  your  world.  “I  told  him  about  the  Resistance  to  get  him  the  hell  away  from  me.  He’s  out  now  trying  to  find  out  if  I  told  him  the  truth.”</p>
<p>And  like  before,  like  when  you  had  your  encounter  with  quite  possibly  Colonel  Zemo,  you  felt  almost  detached  from  your  body.</p>
<p>Seemingly  encouraged  by  your  silence,  Maria  went  on.  </p>
<p>“He’s  killing  Hydra  Wives  to  get  back  at  Hydra’s  Elite  for  killing  his  family.  He  wants  to  destroy  Hydra  too.  We  can  use  him.”</p>
<p>We  can  use  him?</p>
<p>If  you  began  to  hear  circus  music,  you  wouldn’t  have  been  shocked.  If  your  head  began  to  float  away  from  your  body,  it  would  have  seemed  totally  logical  for  the  way  you  felt.</p>
<p>“Did  you…did  you  tell  him  about  us?”</p>
<p>Because  she  wouldn’t,  couldn’t,  Maria  would  never  betray  all  of  you  like  that  to  a  man  who  had  tried  to  murder  you  in  a  parking  garage. </p>
<p>Maria  was  looking  at  you  like  you  were  the  problem  though.</p>
<p>She  was  giving  you  this  look,  like  you  were  the  one  who  didn’t  understand.</p>
<p>“I  told  him  about  all  of  us.  He  is  useful  to  us.  Don’t  look  at  me  like  that,  this  is  war.  Hydra  is  the  enemy.  The  only  way  we  can  win  is  if  we’re  ruthless.  We  have  to  destroy  them  anyway  we  can.”</p>
<p>And…you  didn’t  remember  moving.</p>
<p>You  didn’t  really  remember  much  in  the  next  few  seconds.</p>
<p>You  could  remember  a  heat,  an  absolutely  consuming  fury  that  made  your  head  spin  and  the  next  thing  you  knew,  your  hands  were  around  Maria’s  throat  and  you  were  trying  to  fit  between  the  driver  and  passengers  seat.  Because  if  you  squeezed  your  hands  harder  you  could  kill  her,  you  could  do  it.  You  could  completely  stop  this  sudden  surge  of absolute  terror  she  had  gifted  to  you  in  a  matter  of  seconds.</p>
<p>Why  weren’t  you  getting  in  the  back?  There  was  more  than  enough  room.  For  some  odd  reason  you  were  stuck  on  something,  something  was  wrapped  around  your  waist  keeping  you  from  the  back.</p>
<p>It  was  ok  though.</p>
<p>It  was  fine.</p>
<p>Your  hands  wrapped  around  her  neck  hard  enough  and  fast  enough,  she  wasn’t  prepared.  You  shoved  Maria  into  the  back  seat  and  pressed  as  hard  as  you  could  on  her  throat,  as  thoughts  of  Steve  and  Peter  and  even  Bucky  being  captured  by  Hydra  filled  your  head.</p>
<p>No.  You  would  not  allow  that.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>No  was  a  complete  sentence.</p>
<p>Maria  dug  at  your  hands,  attempted  to  break  your  grip,  did  her  best  to  get  free  as  she  gaped.  Someone,  probably  Peter,  yelled  at  you.  You  could  have  sworn  you  heard  the  car  horn  but  weren’t  too  sure.  </p>
<p>Hands  were  around  your  waist  and  yanking  you  back,  yanking  you  into  the  front  seat  where  you  pulled  Maria,  absolutely  refusing  to  loosen  your  grip  even  a  little  bit,  because  this  bitch  had  to  die.</p>
<p>You  of  all  people  knew  that  you  all  were  at  war  with  Hydra.  Unlike  Maria,  you  had  more  to  lose.  Being  reckless  and  salting  the  earth  was  not  a  good  plan  for  you.  So  you  dug  your  fingers  in  even  tighter.  In  yanking  Maria  up  from  the  back  and  partly  between  the  two  front  seats,  you  were  able  to  tighten  your  grip  even  more.</p>
<p>Peter  couldn’t  believe  it.</p>
<p>He  could  not  gosh  darn  believe  it.</p>
<p>Where  in  the  hell  did  you  get  this  much  strength  from?</p>
<p>Being  stuck  behind  you,  he  couldn’t  quite  get  a  good  grip,  couldn’t  quite  get  around  you  to  pry  you  off  Maria  and  Maria  was  turning  red.  Maria’s  hands  were  clawing  at  you  and  getting  Peter  because  it  seemed  her  eyes  were  watering  and  maybe  her  vision  was  starting  to  blur.</p>
<p>Peter  yelled  at  you  to  stop,  shouted,  kicked  up  a  foot  and  accidentally  kicked  out  the  front  driver’s  window  in  an  attempt  to  get  purchase.  Glass  broke,  fell  everywhere,  got  everywhere.  He  didn’t  want  to  hurt  you.  He  didn’t  dare  use  his  full  strength,  or  half,  on  you.</p>
<p>And  then…</p>
<p>…it  was  over.</p>
<p>The  hard  surface  his  shoulders  were  pressed  against  was  gone.  Peter  fell  back  when  hands  pushed  him.  Hands  grabbed  you.  Hands  yanked  you  out  as  you  kicked  and  screamed  and  squeezed  as  tight  as  you  could  manage,  forcing  a  metal  hand  pry  your  fingers  off  Maria’s  throat.</p>
<p>It  was  all  limbs  and  screaming  and  fighting.  </p>
<p>A  blur  of  violence  and  noise  and  for  a  second,  Peter  sagged  back  against  the  dashboard  and  took  a  breath,  watched  Maria  gasp  as  she  attempted  to  recover  from  your  attack  and  then  looked  to  see  Bucky  standing  by  the  car.  Bucky  too  watched  you  struggle  in  Steve’s  grip.  You  kicked  and  squirmed  and  fought  with  unholy  abandon  to  get  free.  Uncaring  about  who  could  have  seen  or  heard,  you  demanded  to  be  let  go,  you  screamed  for  Steve  to  stop  and  get  off  you.</p>
<p>Causing  Bucky  to  look  at  Peter  and  raise  his  eyebrows  questioningly.</p>
<p>With  a  nod  at  a  gasping  and  panting  Maria,  Peter  softly  answered  in  complete  juxtaposition  to  you.  “She  told  him  about  the  Resistance.  She  told  him  everything.”</p>
<p>Resulting  in  your  fighting  growing  more  frenzied.</p>
<p>Resulting  in  Steve  pausing,  blinking,  attempting  to  absorb  that  information.  All  while  he  clung  fiercely  to  you  in  the  dark  rusty  night.</p>
<p>Resulting  in  Bucky  licking  his  lips,  cool  blue  eyes  flickering  at  Maria  for  only  a  second  and  then  looking  back  to  Peter.  “She  tell  him  about  my  sister?”</p>
<p>Almost  resulting  in  a  shrug,  in  a  ‘I  don’t  know,’  because  Peter  didn’t  know.  Steve  was  busy  trying  to  contain  you,  since  you  weren’t  anywhere  within  realm  of  calming  down.  It  was  not  going  to  happen.</p>
<p>Maria  answered  that  question  for  Peter.</p>
<p>From  the  back,  she  breathed  deeply,  hand  touching  the  painful  area  that  was  her  neck.  Voice  hoarse  from  you.  Shockingly,  you  were  stronger  than  you  looked.  </p>
<p>“We’re…at  war…Barnes.  This.  Is.  War.”</p>
<p>“Maria!”  Steve  admonished,  pretty  much  the  second  the  words  left  her  mouth.  Understanding  how  you  had  become  so  enraged.  So  unable  to  be  calm,  unable  to  see  reason.</p>
<p>And  deep  down,  Bucky  understood.  He  understood  you  down  on  a  cellular  level.  Inside  he  was  screaming  and  fighting  too.  Inside  he  was  losing  his  mind  at  the  thought  of Colonel  Zemo  going  to  his  sisters  door.  His  girlfriend’s  door.</p>
<p>Without  a  word,  he  turned  and  opened  up  the  back-passenger  door.</p>
<p>With  a  squeak,  Maria  dove  between  the  two  front  seats,  hurling  herself  into  the  driver’s  seat  to  put  Peter  between  herself  and  Barnes.  Because  Barnes  had  that  look  on  his  face.  One  that  he’d  had  when  Steve  had  brought  him  home.  A  cold,  dead,  detached  look.  A  thousand-yard  stare.</p>
<p>Unable  to  not  be  vocal,  you  fought  against  the  arm  of  banded  steel  around  your  waist.  Shouting  at  Maria.  As  if  you  thought  that  maybe  if  you  yelled  at  her  loud  enough,  frequently  enough,  she  may  understand  that  gravity  of  what  she’d  done.  Wanting  absolutely  no  part  of  Steve  calming  you  down,  your  nails  dug  into  his  wrist,  clawed  and  scratched  while  you  continued  to  fight.  “Oh  you  dumb  bitch!  Do  you  have  any  idea  what  you’ve  done!  If  he  tells  Hydra!  We’re  dead!  We’re  all  dead!  They’re  gonna  kill  us  all!  They’re  gonna  strap  Steve  and  Bucky  and  Peter  to  that  chair  till  their  brains  are  fried!  They’re  gonna  kill  you  too!  You  better  pray  they  just  put  a  bullet  in  your  head!  You  better  pray…”</p>
<p>To  which  Maria  could  stand  no  more.</p>
<p>Leaning  forward  with  a  hand  on  Peter’s  slim  bicep  and  keeping  Bucky  in  her  line  of  sight,  she  shouted  right  back  at  you.  “We  can  use  him!  He  wants  to  destroy  Hydra!  He  is  our  ally!  We  don’t  have  to  like  him  or  what  he  does!  You  of  all  people  should  know  how  valuable  someone  like  him  is  to  our  side!  Don’t  let  your  personal  feelings  cloud  our  mission!”</p>
<p>You  were  going  to  kill  her.</p>
<p>You  were  going  to,  straight  up,  first  degree  homicide  this  bitch.  That  red  darkened.  That  fire  swept  through  you  and  a  surge  of  pure  hatred  coursed  right  in  your  very  blood.  Along  with  Steve’s  hand  smacking  right  over  your  mouth,  not  so  much  silencing  the  vitriol  that  began  to  spew  from  you,  more  making  it  muffled  noises.</p>
<p>Steve’s  grip  grew  tighter  until  he  picked  you  up  bridal  style.  Squeezed  you  tightly  against  him  in  order  to  gain  some  control  over  you.  Perhaps  if  he  held  you  tight  enough,  he  could  make  you  calm  down  so  he  could  think,  so  he  could  process  this,  so  he  could  find  a  way  to  make  this  ok  now  that  it  was  out.  Because  your  reaction  was  not  unreasonable.  Steve  needed  a  second  or  two  to  think.  He  needed  a  moment…</p>
<p>A  sound  echoed  around  the  abandoned  street.</p>
<p>A  wet  snapping  sound  that  was  so  distinctive,  it  couldn’t  have  been  anything  else.</p>
<p>Almost  frantically  he  looked  to  Bucky.  Bucky  who  was  still  standing  by  the  car.</p>
<p>It  was  Peter.</p>
<p>A  tilting  of  his  head  led  him  to  see  Peter  slowly  climb  out  of  your  car,  a  scowl  on  his  face,  a  look  of  disgust  really.  </p>
<p>Peter  had  done  it.</p>
<p>Peter  had  left  Maria’s  body  in  the  driver’s  seat.  Head  cocked  to  the  side  at  an  unnatural  angle.  And  while  Bucky  gave  Peter  a  supportive  pat  on  the  back,  the  very  first  thought  that  came  to  Steve’s  mind  was…<em>Goddamn  it,  Steve.  Look  what  you  did  to  Peter.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It  had  been  quiet.</p>
<p>So  quiet.</p>
<p>No  more  than  a  handful  of  words  had  been  spoken  between  Steve  and  Bucky  when  they  buried  Maria.  Dumping  her  was  just  wrong.  Putting  her  someplace  where  she  could  be  found  was  too  risky.  What  with  the  possibility  of  Peter’s  DNA  or  fingerprints  on  her  now.  </p>
<p>Neither  super  soldier  had  too  much  to  say  on  the  ride  home.  Far  too  many  thoughts  bounced  through  their  heads.  </p>
<p>Far  too  many  questions.  Far  too  many  concerns.</p>
<p>Lights  looked  more  like  holiday  lights  as  Steve  drove  along  the  nearly  empty  streets,  having  told  Peter  to  take  you  home  so  he  and  Bucky  could  take  care  of  Maria.</p>
<p>“If  he  didn’t  do  it.  One  of  us  would  have  done  it.  We  both  know  it,”  Bucky  had  told  him  a  few  street  lights  back.</p>
<p>“Yeah,”  Steve  had  agreed.  Although  it  didn’t  make  it  less  worse.  It  didn’t  diminish  the  fact  that  Maria  had  been  one  of  the  people  there  when  he’d  woken  up  from  the  ice,  when  he’d  become  an  Avenger,  when  he’d  worked  for  SHIELD.  She  was  one  of  the  few  things  left  from  his  old  life.</p>
<p>A  few  stoplights  later,  Bucky  stretched  out  his  legs  and  ran  fingers  through  his  hair,  pulled  it  free  from  the  hair  tie.  “He  had  to  make  his  first  kill  one  of  these  days.  He  has  to  learn  how  to  do  it  quickly,  without  making  a  mess  or  feeling  anything.  Or  else  he’ll  never  survive.  It  has  to  be  as  easy  as  breathing  for  him  too.”</p>
<p>“I  know,”  was  Steve’s  soft  answer  back,  even  if  he  didn’t  like  it  or  want  it  to  be  true.</p>
<p>Slowing  down  and  blinking,  he  turned  into  the  neighborhood  where  your  house  was  as  Bucky’s  phone  made  a  little  noise.</p>
<p>“Call  it  foolish  of  me.  I  just  didn’t  want  this  for  him,  Buck.  I’d  hoped  that  I  could  set  him  up  somewhere  safe…a  lab  or  something.”</p>
<p>Another  noise  came  from  Bucky’s  phone.</p>
<p>Digging  around  in  his  pants,  he  sighed  deeply.  “S’not  foolish  Steve.  It’s  basic  decency.  No  one  wants  to  live  like  us.  The  boy  deserves  better  but  that’s  out  of  our  hands.  All  we  can  do  is  prepare  him  for  the  world  that  we’re  living.”  Reaching  across  the  front  seat  of  the  pickup,  Bucky  gave  Steve’s  shoulder  an  encouraging  squeeze  with  his  metal  hand.</p>
<p>A  flesh  finger  tapped  his  phone  to  see  what  two  people  were  texting  him  this  late,  simultaneously  it  seemed.  Odd.  Especially  considering  neither  person  was  his  sister  or  girlfriend.</p>
<p>“Who’s  that?  Acquire  an  additional  lady  friend?”</p>
<p>Beside  Steve  came  a  snort.</p>
<p>A  soft  smile  began  to  tug  at  the  corner  of  Steve’s  mouth.</p>
<p>Considering  how  their  night  had  been  going…this  was  nice.  It  was  calm.  Things  had  seemed  to  settle  a  bit.  Not  that  Steve  expected  it  to  last.  He  did  however  learn  long  ago  that  he  needed  to  savor  these  moments  of  tranquility.</p>
<p>“Please,  I’m  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends  keeping  up  with  Becca  and  my  little  Kitten.  Last  thing  I  need  is  an  additional  lady  friend.  Not  when  yours  is  always  up  to  something  to  fill  any  patches  of  boredom.”</p>
<p>Making  Steve  nod  in  agreement.</p>
<p>Indeed  you  did  do  that  with  frequent  regularity.  </p>
<p>“Oh  wait,  I  stand  corrected,  one  is  from  my  special  lady  and  the  other  a  guy  I  know  who  speaks  Sokovian.”</p>
<p>From  Steve’s  side  of  the  dark  cab,  illuminated  with  each  passing  streetlamp  came  a  curious.  “Oh?”</p>
<p>Steve  was  curious.  Really  really  curious.</p>
<p>Showing  no  outward  signs  of  excitement  or  really  anything  from  his  slouched  down  position  in  the  passenger  seat.  Bucky  peered  down  at  his  phone  quietly  until  he  had  enough  information  to  speak.  Unlike  Peter  who  would  have  offered  him  a  play  by  play  with  each  passing  second.</p>
<p>“Kitten  says  that  the  blood  on  the  heel  and  knit  mask  and  dress  belongs  to  two  donors.  Both  of  the  sample  donors  we  sent  were  matches  to  the  exclusion  of  two  really  big  numbers.”  Followed  by  sounds  of  Bucky  clicking  his  tongue  on  the  bottom  of  his  mouth,  reading  more,  tapping  his  flesh  thumb  on  the  smooth  screen.  “Yeah,  no  other  genetic  samples  were  picked  up  on  the  dress.  Aside  from  organic  matter  from  the  garage  and  dumpster.”</p>
<p>Though  he  heard  Bucky’s  words  and  processed  them,  thought  them  over  and  understood  them.  Steve  still  needed  to  absolute  double  check.  “Colonel  Helmut  Zemo  is  the  man  who  attacked  my  wife.”</p>
<p>Absolution.  It  was  a  glorious  feeling.</p>
<p>Everything  he’d  been  wanting  to  do,  planning,  thinking  about,  all  the  dark  little  things  that  had  been  picking  away  at  him  were  now  not  so  horrible.</p>
<p>“According  to  science  and  numbers.  Yeah.”</p>
<p>And  Steve  trusted  numbers  and  science.  Compared  to  the  grey  of  Hydra,  numbers  and  science  were  black  and  white.</p>
<p>“My  guy  translated  the  watch  you  gave  me  from  Maria’s  husband  too.”</p>
<p>At  mention  of  Maria,  Steve’s  throat  tightened  up  again.  But  he  focused  on  the  road.  His  hands  gripping  the  steering  wheel.</p>
<p>Bucky  went  on.  Peering  down  at  his  glowing  phone.  Not  bothering  to  look  up  when  Steve  passed  the  cul-de-sac  where  his  sister  lived.  Their  own  home  up  around  the  corner.</p>
<p>“Wanna  hear  it?”</p>
<p>Not  really.</p>
<p>Now  Steve  had  all  the  proof  he  needed.  He  really  didn’t  care  what  was  engraved  on  the  inside  of  Zemo’s  watch.  He  didn’t  care  about  the  Hydra  Wives  who  had  died  either  really.  Sure,  there  had  been  a  degree  of  concern  at  one  time.  All  such  things  vanished  when  you’d  been  attacked.  Humanizing  your  attacker  now  was  pointless.  Which  made  him  think  of  Maria.  Which  made  him  shrug.  Peter  had  literally,  a  little  over  an  hour  ago,  murdered  Maria  for  saying  those  things,  along  with  a  handful  of  other  things.</p>
<p>“Sure,  why  not?”</p>
<p>Slowing  down  for  a  stop  sign,  then  stopping  fully,  because  Steve  was  nothing  if  not  a  careful  driver,  he  couldn’t  help  but  notice  the  activity  going  on  in  his  driveway.</p>
<p>His  childhood  friend’s  voice  filled  the  cab.  Smooth.  Warm.  Reminding  him  of  the  past  that  they  shared.</p>
<p>“To  my  beloved  Helmut.  My  love  for  you  is  endless.  Heike.”</p>
<p>No  reaction  came  from  Steve  other  than  to  lift  his  foot  from  the  brake  to  roll  out  of  the  stop.</p>
<p>“You  should  give  him  his  watch  back  tomorrow.  See  what  kind  of  a  reaction  you  get  out  of  him.  At  the  very  least,  he  deserves  to  die  wearing  it.”</p>
<p>That  remark  got  a  response  from  Steve.</p>
<p>Slowly  accelerating  down  the  street,  ever  closer  to  the  house  that  you  all  lived  in,  he  looked  over  at  Bucky  with  mild  surprise.</p>
<p>Midway  to  shoving  his  phone  into  his  pants.  He  shared  with  Steve.  “It  almost  makes  you  feel  for  the  guy.  Obviously  he  misses  his  family.  There  was  real  love  there  and  due  to  circumstances  outside  his  control,  they’re  gone.  If  only  he  went  after  the  actual  Hydra  members  instead  of  killing  their  family.  He  could  have  been  incredibly  useful.”</p>
<p>As  good  of  a  point  as  Maria  had  made,  Bucky  couldn’t  get  past  that  little  fact.</p>
<p>Plus  he  didn’t  like  head  games.</p>
<p>A  no  muss,  no  fuss,  simple  bullet  to  the  head  was  his  style  these  days.  He  hadn’t  been  a  fan  when  his  head  was  being  screwed  with  and  had  no  desire  to  engage  in  psychological  warfare  of  his  own.</p>
<p>“Yeah,”  Steve  quietly  agreed,  “Could’a  been.”</p>
<p>Quiet  because  Bucky  had  a  valid  point.  Quiet  cause  Maria  had  a  point  of  her  own.  Quiet  because  he  would  have  done  the  same  thing  that  Peter  had  done.  Quiet  because  it  was  now,  for  sure,  Zemo  without  a  doubt.  Quiet  too  because  it  looked  like  Peter  was  loading  your  car  full  of  belongings,  a  good  number  of  belongings.</p>
<p>Slowly,  Steve  directed  his  truck  into  the  driveway,  behind  your  car  for  good  measure.  </p>
<p>Not  liking  the  looks  of  whatever  was  going  on  one  bit.</p>
<p>Much  like  a  shark  sensing  blood  in  the  water,  Bucky  made  a  noise  beside  him.  “Well  this  should  be  good.”</p>
<p>Not  that  Steve  would  agree  with  that  sentiment  one  bit.  </p>
<p>Not  at  the  sight  of  Peter  putting  the  TV  in  the  back  seat  of  your  Impala  and  you  hurrying  out  the  back-kitchen  door  with  a  suitcase  in  each  hand,  kicking  a  teal  plastic  laundry  basket  down  the  back  stairs  and  across  the  yard.</p>
<p>Nope.</p>
<p>Steve  wasn’t  liking  the  look  of  this  one  bit.</p>
<p>One  could  say  he  made  haste  with  the  turning  off  his  truck  and  the  hopping  out.  As  well  as  the  walking  around  his  truck  to  where  your  Impala’s  trunk  was  open  and  filling  up.</p>
<p>Bucky  noticed  too.</p>
<p>You  didn’t  seem  to  notice  either  super  soldiers  until  you  came  over  to  your  car,  kicking  a  plastic  laundry  basket  that  Steve  noticed  was  full  of  your  shoes.  It  seemed  you  had  packed  up  all  the  essentials.</p>
<p>“What’s  this?”  Steve  inquired  as  levelly  as  he  could  manage.  Which  wasn’t  much  at  all.</p>
<p>He  even  put  out  his  foot  on  the  plastic  basket  so  you  could  kick  it  no  further  and  had  to  come  to  a  stop.  With  a  suitcase  in  each  hand.</p>
<p>“We’re  leaving,”  you  announced  to  no  one’s  surprise.  </p>
<p>Before  Steve  could  even  give  you  his  eyebrows  of  disapproval,  you  went  on.  As  there  would  be  absolutely  no  talking  you  out  of  this  course  of  action.  Not  after  what  Maria  had  let  spill  to  the  king  of  all  psychos.</p>
<p>“Obviously  I  can’t  make  you  two  come.  But,  I  have  no  desire  to  be  murdered  or  have  Peter  be  turned  into  Bucky  when  he  first  came  to  live  with  us.  I  can’t  do  it  Steve.  I  can’t.  I  know  when  I’m  beat  and  this  is  me  tossing  in  the  towel.  Hydra  won.  So  we’re  bouncing.”</p>
<p>You  then  walked  around  him  and  proceeded  to  fling  the  two  suitcases  into  the  trunk.  Cracking  something  most  definitely.  Not  that  the  sound  of  something  breaking  slowed  you  down  for  a  second.  Hell  to  the  no.  You  grabbed  the  trunk  and  slammed  it  shut.  Breaking  something  else  in  there  too.  You’d  deal  with  that  later  as  well.</p>
<p>“Wait?  What  do  you  mean?  What  does  that  even  mean?”</p>
<p>He  followed  you  back  into  the  yard  and  towards  the  steps,  only  pausing  to  holler  at  Peter.  “Pete!  Unpack  the  car.  You  two  aren’t  going  anywhere.”</p>
<p>You  didn’t  slow  down.  Not  even  when  you  yelled  a  counter  argument  to  your  brother.  “Don’t  listen  to  him!  Get  my  shoes  in  the  back  and  start  the  car!  I’m  going  to  grab  the  last  of  it.”</p>
<p>No  more  horrifying  words  had  ever  come  out  of  your  mouth.</p>
<p>In  that  second  Steve  could  feel  his  world  crashing  down  all  around  him.</p>
<p>Fucking  Maria.</p>
<p>He  really  really  wished  Peter  hadn’t  killed  her  cause  he  very  much  wanted  to  now.  Especially  when  you  popped  up  the  steps  and  vanished  into  the  kitchen.  Leaving  him  with  only  one  course  of  action.  A  desperate  look  was  hurled  Bucky’s  way  from  the  base  of  those  steps.</p>
<p>Being  the  truest  of  all  friends,  Bucky  waved  Steve  off.  “I’ll  take  the  boy  over  to  my  sisters  for  the  night.”</p>
<p>And  Steve  was  diving  up  the  stairs  to  go  after  you.  </p>
<p>That  was  where  Bucky  was  heading  anyway.</p>
<p>Naturally   he’d  called  to  give  his  sister  a  heads  up,  who’d  been  with  his  lady  love,  saving  him  a  second  phone  call.  Both  ladies  loved  Peter.  There  were  more  than  enough  snacks  at  Becca’s.  It  was  practically  set  in  stone.</p>
<p>Sounds  of  yelling  began  to  drift  out  of  the  house.</p>
<p>A  very  distinctive  sort  of  yelling.</p>
<p>Deep  down  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  Peter  knew  for  a  fact,  that  he  did  not  want  to  go  back  in  that  house  anytime  soon  and  he  let  out  quite  a  sigh.</p>
<p>“Come  on,  punk.  Grab  one  of  your  bags.  We’ll  go  crash  at  Becca’s  for  the  night.”</p>
<p>Another  drawn  out  sigh  came  from  Peter.</p>
<p>As  if  seeking  guidance,  his  eyes  went  heavenwards  before  he  told  Bucky.  “We’re  gonna  have  to  call  Aunt  May.  She’s  already  on  the  road.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I  don’t  know  what  to  tell  you  Steve!”  You  shouted,  having  made  it  past  the  kitchen  and  into  the  hallway,  yanking  your  elbow  out  of  his  grip  as  you  spun  around,  confronted  him,  giving  him  exactly  what  he  wanted  and  sure,  why  not?  You  could  spare  a  few  minutes  before  the  mad  dash  for  the  border  began.</p>
<p>Yanking  free  from  him,  you  did  not  step  back.</p>
<p>Oh  no.</p>
<p>This  you  would  not  give  in  on.  This  was  not  something  you  would  compromise  or  bend  on.</p>
<p>“I  can’t  make  you  two  come  with  us.  But  I’m  not  about  to  sit  here  and  wait  for  Hydra  to  come  and  arrest  us  all,  then  do  hell  knows  what  to  my  brother!  I’m  not  gonna  do  it!”  And  maybe,  maybe  you  stepped  closer  to  him.  Maybe  you  pushed  against  his  chest.  Maybe  you  even  wanted  to  scream  at  him  for  being  a  self-sacrificing  asshat  and  drop  down  on  your  knees,  beg  him  to  come  with  you  and  Peter,  right  there  in  the  hallway.</p>
<p>“That’s  not  going  to  happen,”  he  shouted  right  back.</p>
<p>So  confident.  So  sure  of  himself.</p>
<p>It  pissed  you  off.</p>
<p>It  must  have  been  nice  to  be  a  big  powerful  super  soldier.  It  must  have  been  nice  to  be  a  man.  It  must  have  been  freakin  fantastic  to  be  Director  of  Hydra  here  in  America,  because  it  was  a  horror  show  for  you.</p>
<p>If  anything,  you  became  louder,  more  irate  with  this  man,  who  could  set  you  off  with  minimal  effort.  </p>
<p>“What  in  the  ever-loving  hell  makes  you  think  it’s  not  going  to  happen?  Can  you  see  in  the  future  now?  If  not,  you’re  gonna  have  to  forgive  me  for  not  wanting  to  play  Russian  roulette  with  Peter!  Unlike  you  and  Bucky,  I  don’t  have  a  death  wish!”</p>
<p>And  for  a  second,  Steve  saw  red  too.</p>
<p>Like  you  had,  he  stepped  closer,  till  his  body  pressed  against  yours  and  he  fought  absolutely  every  urge  in  him  to  keep  his  hands  off  you.  Not  to  grab  your  shoulders  and  throttle  you  until  you  saw  reason,  saw  through  the  fog  of  your  well  warranted  terror.</p>
<p>What  you  yelled  wasn’t  true.  Well,  not  anymore.  He  didn’t  have  a  death  wish  anymore.</p>
<p>Instead  he  stepped  closer  and  closer  till  he  had  you  backing  up  into  a  wall.</p>
<p>“Because  Colonel  Zemo  is  with  Phil  right  now!  And  it  is  Zemo!  Bucky  got  the  bloodwork  results  back.  It’s  Zemo.  Zemo’s  not  going  to  say  shit  because  Phil’s  got  it  in  his  head  that  Zemo  is  an  asset  to  us.”  Stepping  even  closer  to  you,  pushing  you  up  even  more  against  the  wall,  he  lowered  his  voice  to  something  of  a  growl.  “Tomorrow,  I’m  going  to  kill  Zemo.  I  might  even  kill  Phil.  We’ll  see.  All  I  know,  is  that  man  is  not  going  to  live  in  the  same  city  as  us,  or  breathe  the  same  air  as  you  a  minute  longer  than  necessary.”</p>
<p>Swallowing,  you  took  all  that  in.  You  heard  those  words  and  knew  without  a  doubt  that  Steve  would  follow  through  on  those  threats.  There  was  a  steel  in  his  eyes  that  you  very  much  recognized  and  believed  and  it  wasn’t  that  you  doubted  Steve.  Your  problem  was  that  you  didn’t  trust  Colonel  Zemo.  Who  <em>was</em>  your  attacker.  For  sure  was  the  man  who  attacked  you  and  hurt  you.</p>
<p>Miraculously  you  were  able  to  squeeze  away  from  Steve.  </p>
<p>Shaking  your  head  vehemently,  your  flats  were  soft  on  the  hard  floor.  “I’m  sorry.  I  can’t  risk  it.  I  can’t  take  that  chance  with  Peter’s  life.  You  know  what  Hydra  will  do  to  him.”</p>
<p>Of  all  people  on  earth,  Steve  knew  what  Hydra  would  do  to  Peter  the  second  they  found  out  what  he  was  truly.</p>
<p>Steve  also  wasn’t  about  to  let  you  get  away.</p>
<p>If  you  even  thought  that  he  was  about  to  let  you  leave,  you  were  delusional.  You  weren’t  going  anywhere  and  with  one  step  of  his  long  legs,  he  closed  that  distance.  Reaching  out,  he  easily  snagged  your  wrist.  What  Steve  did  not  expect  was  for  you  to  react  so  explosively.  </p>
<p>Hard  as  you  could,  you  yanked  on  his  grip,  which  he  was  forced  to  tighten.  You  pulled  harder  and  he  yanked  you  towards  him.</p>
<p>“You  are  not  going  anywhere.  Let’s  get  that  straight  right  now.  You  are  not  leaving  me.”</p>
<p>Leaving  him?</p>
<p>He  actually  thought  you  were  leaving  him?</p>
<p>“Jesus  Christ  Steve!”  You  shouted  out  in  an  explosion  that  didn’t  slow.  “If  you  think  I  want  to  do  this  you’ve  lost  your  fucking  mind!  I’m  not  leaving  you!  I  could  <em>never</em>  leave  you!”</p>
<p>All  of  your  tugging  was  in  vain.  Steve’s  grip  was  like  iron.</p>
<p>“You’re  not  going  anywhere.  No  one  is  going  to  touch  Peter.  Tomorrow  I  will  deal  with  all  of  this  but  you  had  better  get  this  through  your  head,  so  listen  good,  you’re  not  going  anywhere  without  me!  Doll,  I’ll  put  a  goddamn  tracker  in  you  myself!  Don’t  you  ever  do  this  again.  Do  you  understand  me?  If  I  ever  come  home  to  find  the  car  packed  with  your  things  again,  or  god  forbid  you’re  gone,  I  will  take  a  belt  to  your  ass  till  you’re  raw  and  can’t  walk  for  days.”</p>
<p>Something  came  over  you  at  his  tone,  his  grit,  the  way  he  gripped  you  and  spoke  those  words  to  you.</p>
<p>You  hit  him.</p>
<p>You  straight  up  slapped  Steve  right  in  the  face  as  hard  as  you  could,  in  a  direct  response  to  those  words.  Damn  if  it  didn’t  make  your  hand  hurt  like  a  motherfucker.  </p>
<p>“Go  ahead.  Do  it  again,”  he  snarled.  Eyes  no  longer  reminiscent  of  the  sky,  instead,  a  violent  storm  at  sea.  “Get  it  out  of  your  system.”</p>
<p>It  broke.</p>
<p>Whatever  was  inside  of  you  that  had  been  holding  everything  together  simply  caved  in  and  you  were  hitting  Steve.  You  were  smacking  his  bicep.  You  were  clawing  at  the  hand  holding  you  so  tightly.  You  were  fighting  and  squirming  and  even  yelling  and  shouting,  until  it  was  something  of  a  blur.</p>
<p>Till  it  was  all  coming  out  of  you  in  a  wave,  a  rush,  an  explosion  that  was  not  all  about  Steve  or  his  words  to  you.  Sure,  it  wasn’t  not  about  Steve  by  any  means.  He  just  wasn’t  the  sole  causation  of  your  outburst.</p>
<p>Not  long  passed  before  there  were  tears  too.</p>
<p>A  flurry  of  emotions  overwhelmed  you  and  somewhere  between  yelling  and  screaming,  hitting  and  tears,  your  back  once  more  hit  the  wall  with  a  hard  crack.  Seeing  you  claw  at  Steve’s  hand  pinning  you  in  place  at  the  base  of  your  neck,  right  at  your  collarbone.  His  voice  had  reached  a  gravelly  pitch  you  were  unfamiliar  with,  each  word  sounding  as  if  he  had  to  bite  it  out  at  you.  “Neither  of  us  is  leaving  this  house  until  you  understand  that  you’re  not  going  anywhere!”</p>
<p>Far  less  in  control  of  yourself,  you  let  out  a  screech  and  were  practically  out  of  your  mind  when  you  managed  to  get  out,  in  a  moderately  coherent  string  of  words,  “Maria  told  him  everything!  He  knows!  <em>He  knows!</em>  He  could  tell  someone  and  I  don’t  wanna  die!”</p>
<p>Steve’s  hand  left  your  neck  and  it  felt  like  your  strings  had  been  cut.  Gasping,  you  sagged  against  the  wall,  your  own  hands  going  to  the  warm  spot  that  his  left  behind  to  savor  that  touch.</p>
<p>Only  briefly  did  his  hand  leave  you.  Fingers  grabbed  your  face  to  make  you  look  him  in  the  eye.  He  bore  down  on  you  with  a  piercing  glare,  a  clenched  jaw,  voice  sounding  so  abrasive  it  could  have  drawn  blood.  “Do  you  honestly  <em>think</em>  for  one  second  that  I  would  allow  you  to  stay  here  if  it  wasn’t  safe?  Do  you  <em>think</em>  I  don’t  have  a  plan  in  the  event  it  is  too  dangerous  for  you  and  Peter  here?”</p>
<p>Frankly,  you  hadn’t  even  thought  about  it.</p>
<p>Not  done,  he  jerked  your  face  closer  and  leaned  till  pieces  of  his  hair  brushed  across  your  forehead.  “Get  this  through  your  head.  I  would  never  allow  you  to  stay  here  if  it wasn’t  safe.  I  will  do  whatever  I  have  to  do  to  keep  you  safe.  Sometimes  I  think  you  forget  that  I’m  the  Director  of  Hydra  now.  You  only  see  Steve.  Doll,  I  appreciate  it,  but  don’t  you  ever  forget  who  we  are  now.”  Steve’s  grip  on  your  jaw  changed.  A  thumb  brushed  over  your  bottom  lip  and  he  placed  a  gentle  kiss  to  a  lightening  bruise  on  your  cheek  from  your  attack.  At  odds  with  his  words  and  tone  and  the  possessively  tight  way  he  held  onto  you.  Words  were  hot  against  your  cheek  next.  “He  can  tell  whoever  he  wants  whatever  he  wants.  He’s  merely  a  foreign  officer,  from  a  backwoods  country,  who  got  his  family  slaughtered  cause  he  couldn’t  keep  his  mouth  shut.  He  got  sent  here  because  he’s  being  punished.  I’m  the  goddamn  Director  of  Hydra  for  twenty-three  countries.  They  still  think  I’m  loyal  and  let  me  put  my  wife  in  charge  of  propaganda  and  media  relations.  Whose  Hydra  going  to  believe?”</p>
<p>Never  having  thought  about  it  like  that,  or  Steve  like  that,  you  had  to  admit  he  had  a  point.  Not  that  you  could  say  it.</p>
<p>The  grip  on  your  jaw  was  so  tight  that  he  clearly  did  not  want  your  input.  Or  maybe  your  face  was  just  slippery  with  tears?  That  could  have  been  it  too.  For  whatever  reason,  you  found  yourself  once  more  all  but  crucified  to  the  wall  beneath  Steve,  pinned  in  by  his  words  and  his  body  down  to  his  fingers.</p>
<p>“Tell  me.  Doll?  Who  are  you  married  to?”</p>
<p>Fingers  belonging  to  his  other  hand  began  to  pop  buttons  on  the  front  of  your  dress.  The  same  dress  that  you’d  worn  to  work  that  day  that  now  felt  forever  ago.</p>
<p>Pop.  Pop.  Pop.</p>
<p>One  by  one  they  opened  under  his  steady  fingers.</p>
<p>Ever  so  slightly  his  grip  on  your  chin  loosened  so  you  could  speak.  Incredibly  very  close  to  tears.  “You,  Steve.”</p>
<p>Pop.  Pop.  Pop.</p>
<p>All  the  way  down  to  the  waist  of  your  dress.  </p>
<p>“Fine.  You’re  getting  the  belt  three  times.  Once  for  trying  to  leave  when  I  wasn’t  home.  Once  for  this  mouth  of  yours  when  I’m  trying  to  be  understanding.  And  once  more  for  having  the  audacity  to  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  run  away.  One  way  or  another  tonight,  you’re  going  to  learn.  If  I  have  to  turn  it  red  with  my  belt,  cover  it  with  my  cum  then  fuck  it  till  you  see  reason.  You’ll  learn  to  never  do  this  again.”</p>
<p>Immediate.</p>
<p>Your  reaction  was  that  quick.</p>
<p>A  belt?</p>
<p>Steve  had  never  even  spanked  your  ass  in  bed  for  fun.  Forget  taking  a  belt  to  it  in  order  to  teach  you  some  kind  of  nineteen-thirties  era  lesson.  What  in  the  actual  fuck?</p>
<p>Immediately,  you  began  to  struggle,  fight,  try  your  hardest  to  get  out  of  his  grip  and  away  before  anything  could  be  done  with  this  belt  he  spoke  of.  Up  you  drove  your  knee  in  an  attempt  to  get  him  off  you,  get  some  space.  Not  that  it  worked.  If  anything,  it  had  the  opposite  effect.</p>
<p>You  wound  up  on  the  floor,  legs  tangled  up  with  Steve’s  longer  limbs.  Not  so  much  panicking  as  in  a  cloud  of  growing  emotions,  growing  feelings,  a  growing  heat  that  threatened  to  consume  everything.  A  good  amount  of  Steve’s  weight  was  pinning  you  down.  Usually  he  did  his  best  to  keep  it  off  you  to  a  degree.</p>
<p>Not  tonight  it  seemed.</p>
<p>Steve  kissed  you  and  it  was  all  bruising  demands,  tongue  and  teeth,  taking  and  stealing  your  breath  away.  A  soft  tenderness  was  in  your  face  that  you  quickly  no  longer  noticed.  Steve  hardly  seemed  to  care  about  the  lightly  mottling  bruises  over  your  throat,  considering  how  intent  he  was  on  sucking  his  own  new  marks  over  that  sensitive  skin.</p>
<p>And  it  wasn’t  that  he  didn’t  notice.  He  most  definitely  still  did  notice.  If  anything,  they  spurred  him  on  what  was  now  a  mission  to  make  you  understand  that  though  you  may  have  encountered  the  devil  in  the  shape  of  Helmut  Zemo.  Even  the  devil  was  afraid  of  something.  </p>
<p>No  matter  how  long  it  took. </p>
<p>If  it  took  all  night.  You  were  going  to  be  reminded  why  Steve  had  been  made  Director  of  Hydra  here.  Steve  would  remind  you  the  only  way  he  had  left  to  him  in  that  second  that  he  was  a  super  soldier,  enhanced,  considerably  more  terrifying  than  Colonel  Zemo.  Only,  for  some  reason,  you’d  forgotten  it.  You’d  seemed  to  have  forgotten  not  just  who,  but  what  you  were  married  to.</p>
<p>Steve  hadn’t  been  made  permanent  director  because  he  looked  good  in  the  uniform.</p>
<p>In  the  intimacy  that  had  settled  between  the  two  of  you  that  the  both  of  you  had  allowed  to  fester,  soften  you  both,  Zemo  had  taken  notice  and  taken  advantage,  exploited  it  one  could  say.</p>
<p>Never,  ever,  ever  again  would  you  ever  consider  the  idea  of  leaving  him,  under  any  circumstance.</p>
<p>First  he’d  deal  with  you  and  then  he’d  deal  with  Zemo.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>***Content Warning*** Rough sex and spanking with a belt during the sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’d  done  it.</p>
<p>You’d  finally  done  it.</p>
<p>You’d  pushed  Steve  too  far.</p>
<p>An  actual  genuine  fear  that  you’d  made  him  snap  overcame  you,  because  Steve  had  not  been  like  this  in  quite  a  long  time.  Yeah,  he’d  always  been  handsy  with  you.  Had  no  problem  picking  you  up,  or  moving  you  where  he  wanted  you  when  you  weren’t  doing  what  he  wanted.  In  bed  he  was  equally  unafraid  to  be  physical.  </p>
<p>Now,  now  you  knew  that  no  matter  what  he’d  done  in  the  past,  he’d  always  been  holding  back.  No  matter  how  much  you  may  have  driven  him  crazy,  he  had  been  holding  a  part  of  himself  back.</p>
<p>Now?</p>
<p>Finding  yourself  pinned  to  the  floor  with  his  hand  at  the  base  of  your  neck,  fingers  splayed  over  the  edges  of  each  collarbone,  you  might  as  well  have  had  an  anvil  on  your  chest.</p>
<p>Sure,  you  struggled,  squirmed,  yelled  and  smacked  at  his  bulk.  Yet  it  became  very  clear  to  you  that  you  weren’t  moving  until  he  was  ready  for  you  to.  A  deep  gasp  came  from  you  when  he  ripped  open  your  dress  one  handedly,  like  it  was  tissue  paper.</p>
<p>Usually  he  was  careful  with  your  clothes.  Usually  he  made  sure  not  to  exert  too  much  power  when  he  unbuttoned  or  unzipped.</p>
<p>A  profanity  laced  hiss  escaped  from  you  at  the  feel  of  his  mouth  on  your  now  bare  breasts.  One  of  your  favorite  bras  was  gone.  Torn  away  to  allow  Steve  the  access  to  you  he  wanted,  he  needed,  what  made  him  happy.  Although  it  made  you  happy  too.  Sent  the  back  of  your  head  soundly  smacking  against  the  hallway  floor.  Your  husband,  the  former  Captain  Hydra,  took  your  breast  in  his  mouth  deeply,  sucked  hard  enough  to  make  you  squirm,  drug  his  teeth  along  the  soft  skin  till  your  nipple  slipped  closer  and  then,  your  piercing  caught  between  his  teeth.</p>
<p>All  you  could  do  was  stare  at  the  white  popcorn  ceiling.  Stare  up  at  the  light  fixture.  Sink  your  fingers  into  his  hair  as  deeply  and  as  tightly  as  you  could,  get  the  best  grip  possible.  Without  hesitation  or  a  degree  of  remorse,  Steve  tugged  on  the  gold  bar  in  your  soft  tissue  till  your  nipple  stretched,  your  breast  lifted  and  your  back  began  to  arch.</p>
<p>Nails  raked  into  his  scalp  sharply,  greatly  pleasing  him.</p>
<p>A  pop  followed  and  your  breast  fell  from  his  mouth.  Wet  with  saliva.  A  few  red  marks  already  that  would  undoubtedly  turn  dark.  Leaning  down  till  his  forehead  rested  on  your  chest.  Steve  flattened  his  tongue  over  your  nipple.  Nipped  at  the  smooth  curve  beneath  your  tit  till  you  squirmed.  Taking  your  nipple  back  in  his  hungry  mouth  to  twist  the  bar  around,  suckle  deeply  on  you,  grip  it’s  twin  mound  in  his  free  hand  to  rub  the  hardening  other  pierced  part  of  you  in  tandem.</p>
<p>A  breathy  gasp  came  from  you,  “Steve…shit…”  up  your  hips  moved,  searching  for  stimulation.  Beneath  you  was  the  remains  of  your  dress,  not  escaping  Steve’s  attention.  Nor  did  the  fact  that  his  balls  tightened  from  within  his  pants,  reminding  him  how  fantastic  your  pussy  was,  how  tight  you  squeezed  him  and  how  fucking  amazing  you  were  smelling  as  your  arousal  grew  and  pooled  beneath  you.</p>
<p>Beneath  him,  you  began  to  squirm.  </p>
<p>Steve  pressed  a  bit  more  firmly  on  you,  making  you  cry  out  and  whine.  Making  him  tighten  his  fingers  around  your  nipple.  Push  against  your  piercing.  Ripping  a  whimper  from  you  at  the  rough  sensation.  Making  the  pressure  in  his  painfully  hard  dick  even  more  unbearable.  Not  that  he  would  do  anything.  No,  net  yet,  not  while  he  finally  had  the  chance  to  do  what  he  wanted  to  your  breasts,  how  he  wanted.  Seeing  the  little  bars  through  them  was  always  so  wrong,  so  fucking  wrong.  Still  he  could  never  get  enough  of  them.  Except,  maybe.</p>
<p>A  thought  came.</p>
<p>An  idea  rose.</p>
<p>How  badly  he  wanted  see  them  covered  with  his  release.  Smeared  with  his  thick  cum.</p>
<p>Hand  still  so  solidly  on  you,  Steve  rose,  pulled  out  of  your  grip  and  positioned  himself  above  you,  straddling  your  midsection.  Mindful  of  the  colorful  bruise  on  your  side  that  he  made  sure  not  to  lean  on,  cause  he  wasn’t  cruel.  Without  a  doubt  he’d  have  you  screaming.  Only  not  in  that  way.</p>
<p>Finally  he  let  go  of  you  to  undo  his  dress  slacks.</p>
<p>Perhaps  that  was  what  had  led  to  this  for  you?  Not  seeing  him  in  his  tactical  suit  daily?  No  longer  Captain  Hydra,  no  longer  wearing  the  proof  that  advertised  his  ability  to  enact  violence.  A  three-piece  suit  simply  was  not  as  intimidating.  </p>
<p>Therefore,  he  allowed  his  weight  to  hold  you  to  the  floor.  Hands  roughly  freeing  himself  to  withdraw  his  aching  cock  that  had  been  tenting  his  slacks.</p>
<p>Pleas  began  to  fall  from  your  lips.  Begging  for  relief.  Promises  to  not  do  it  again.  Merely  desperate  impatient  attempts  to  get  to  where  he  filled  you  and  soon  it  would  come,  when  he  was  ready,  not  a  minute  sooner.  He  didn’t  believe  you.  Not  one  bit.  Not  when  your  eyes  popped  at  the  sight  of  his  angry  dick.  Precum  smeared  over  the  tip.  Bobbing  rigidly  from  all  the  blood  that  engorged  it.</p>
<p>Steve  would  believe  you  when  you  were  screaming  it  beneath  him.  He  would  believe  it  when  you  were  babbling,  eyes  rolled  up  into  your  head.</p>
<p>Pulling  himself  out  of  those  cloth  confines,  relief  came  when  fresh  air  hit  his  balls.</p>
<p>“Open  your  mouth  doll.  Get  me  wet.”</p>
<p>Your  valiant  pleas  fell  silent.  You  opened  your  mouth  for  him,  likely  assuming  one  thing  and  that  was  fine  with  Steve,  because  your  mouth  was  pure  heaven.  Your  lips  wrapped  around  his  cock  was  a  sight  he’d  never  tire  of  seeing.  Soft  and  wet  and  everything  he  could  have  ever  dreamed  of,  if  he’d  allowed  himself  to  dream  like  that  before.</p>
<p>A  surprised  noise  came  from  you  when  he  pushed  himself  in  further.  Your  hands  immediately  went  up,  settling  on  his  clothed  thighs.  Eyes  widened  at  his  boldness.  How  he  pushed  himself  in  further.  Reveled  in  your  tongue  running  over  the  bottom  of  his  dick.  Stopping  only  when  he  reached  the  back  of  your  mouth.  Stopping  when  his  crown  pushed  up  against  the  softness  back  there,  enjoying  the  vibrations  from  you  far  too  much.</p>
<p>Your  fingers  gripped  the  fabric  of  his  pants  tightly.  </p>
<p>It  wasn’t  all  of  him  by  a  long  shot.  Maybe  half.  But  it  was  still  plenty.</p>
<p>“S’my  good  girl.  Look  at  how  good  you  take  me.  Look  so  good  with  your  mouth  full  of  me.  Grab  my  sac.  Go  on.  You  know  how  I  like.”</p>
<p>Up  went  your  hands  to  do  as  Steve  asked  you.  Unable  to  say  or  do  anything  in  response.  Not  with  your  mouth  full  of  him.  Not  when  he  was  sitting  on  you.  Further  pushing  in  when  he  felt  the  telltale  signs  of  you  attempting  to  swallow  some  of  the  saliva  building  up.  Making  Steve  push  himself  even  further  in  till  you  almost  coughed.  </p>
<p>“Breathe  through  your  nose.  Don’t  swallow  a  drop.  Focus  on  my  sac.”</p>
<p>To  be  quite  honest,  this  was  killing  you.  It  was  enraging  you.  It  was  driving  you  to  the  point  of  fury  and  you  had  never  been  more  turned  on  in  your  life.  You  were  so  wet  there  was  a  mess  beneath  you.  Your  ass  cheeks  were  literally  slipping  around  in  your  own  juices,  in  the  hallway  of  your  home,  with  Steve’s  monster  dick  so  far  into  your  mouth  he  was  communing  with  your  tonsils,  leaving  you  gripping  his  junk  tightly  as  he  liked.</p>
<p>It  was  only  when  you  could  feel  drool  start  to  roll  out  of  your  mouth,  did  he  pull  out.  Rather  suddenly  too.  Further  surprising  you  with  an  extended  hand.  “Doll.  Spit  in  my  hand.  All  of  it.”</p>
<p>Eyeing  him  closely,  you  listened. </p>
<p>All  the  saliva  and  drool  you  spat  out.  Perhaps  a  bit  testily  too.  And  there  was  a  good  bit  of  it  too.</p>
<p>Not  at  all  seemingly  bothered  by  your  attitude,  never  a  good  sign,  you  watched  Steve  rub  everything  you  gave  him  over  the  impressive  member  that  was  his  dick  and  then  drop  it  between  your  breasts.  Allowing  you  to  then  understand.  Using  hands  slippery  from  you,  he  pushed  your  breasts  together  and  began  to  slide  his  erection  up  and  down  between.  And  not  that  it  wasn’t  hot  or  filthy  or  absolutely  transfixing  to  watch.  Seeing  Steve’s  flushed  member  run  through  the  valley  of  your  breasts  as  they  bounced  and  jiggled,  as  your  piercings  stood  out  against  your  hard  as  hell  nipples.  All  slippery  with  a  mix  of  his  and  your  saliva.  Marks  turning  redder  with  every  passing  second,  his  balls  pushing  against  your  skin  obscenely.</p>
<p>It  wasn’t  that  you  weren’t  enjoying  seeing  him  slowly  unwind  as  he  fucked  your  breasts,  you  only  wanted  that  to  go  on  in  your  vagina.  Was  that  so  much  to  ask?  It’d  been  forever  since  he’d  been  like  this  and  you  wanted  it  in  your  pussy,  right  now.</p>
<p>“Steve,”  you  whined,  begged  really.</p>
<p>This  was  becoming  too  much.  It  was  too  much  teasing.  Too  much  of  him  not  letting  you  have  what  you  needed.  </p>
<p>Seeing  his  manhood  slip  between  you,  so  close  to  you  and  yet  so  far  away,  it  was  the  ultimate  tease.  A  punishment  that  was  starting  to  make  you  crazy,  make  your  eyes  burn  in  frustration. </p>
<p>So  tall  above  you.  Spine  straight  and  shoulder’s  broad  in  his  button  up  shirt,  Steve  looked  down  at  you  with  a  gaze  that  was  somehow  scalding  and  icy.  </p>
<p>Like  that,  you  watched  him  climax  above  you.  Felt  him  paint  your  chest  and  neck  with  warm  ribbons  of  his  release.  Each  lashing  out  on  your  skin  and  sinking  heavy.  Each  milky  stripe  and  drop  significant  to  the  both  of  you  as  you  looked  down  at  yourself,  Steve  too.</p>
<p>For  a  second  or  two,  the  both  of  you  looked  at  what  he’d  done  all  over  you.</p>
<p>Creamy  ejaculate  marking  you  and  covering  the  bruises  that  were  further  along  in  their  healing.  The  very  essence  from  his  body  covering  up  something  so  violent  and  chaotically  done.</p>
<p>Up  till  you  began  to  reach  up  to  touch  Steve’s  cum.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>His  voice  strong.  Powerful.  Hardly  winded,  though  there  was  a  sheen  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead  that  pieces  of  dark  blonde  hair  stuck  to  and  no  sooner  had  that  word  come  from  his  mouth,  his  body  partly  dressed,  Steve  was  rolling  you  over.  Physically  moving  you  where  he  wanted  you,  how  he  wanted  you.  Ass  up.  Elbows  down  on  the  hard  wood  floor  that  was  now  warm  beneath  you.  Not  that  you  cared.  It  was  finally  happening.  You  were  finally  getting  what  you  wanted,  needed,  were  desperate  for  and  god  did  you  <em>need</em>  it.</p>
<p>Fingers  sank  into  your  core  deep,  pulling  out  a  throaty  noise.  </p>
<p>This  was  going  to  happen  and  with  Steve  like  this,  it  would  be  so  good.</p>
<p>Those  fingers  curled  out  and  you  bit  your  lip,  anticipating.</p>
<p>Fingers  pressed  against  your  slippery  hole.</p>
<p>No,  not  that  one,  your  other  one.  A  finger  slippery  with  your  arousal  sank  into  your  ass,  following  by  another,  stretching  your  tight  ring  of  muscle  back  there,  making  you  whip  your  head  around  to  glare  at  Steve.  “Are  you  ki…”</p>
<p>A  third  finger  went  in  and  the  stretch  was  too  much,  too  soon,  too  far  from  the  last  time  you’d  had  anything  back  there.  Making  you  gasp  out.  Making  you  see  bright  colors.  Making  you  swear  at  Steve  as  he  spread  his  fingers  to  scissor  you  open,  smear  around  your  own  cum  to  lubricate  you  back  there,  so  he  could…oh  God.  </p>
<p>You  whined  when  he  pushed  his  cock  through  your  folds,  wetting  it,  getting  it  slippery  and  covered  in  you  for  your  ass.</p>
<p>“Please  Steve,  put  it  in  my…”</p>
<p>Having  absolutely  none  from  you,  Steve  pulled  on  your  rim.  Making  a  high-pitched  noise  come  from  you  that  you  weren’t  particularly  proud  of,  but  couldn’t  stop  if  your  life  depended  on  it.</p>
<p>“I  told  you,”  he  snarled  at  you.  Grabbing  his  slippery  dick  in  hand  to  press  his  tip  against  the  tight  bud  of  your  second  hole.  “You’re  getting  it  here  until  you  see  reason.  I  don’t  care  if  it  takes  all  night.  You’re  going  to  understand.”  And  with  that,  Steve  pushed  the  head  of  his  erection  in  with  a  tight  pop  that  the  both  of  you  felt.  Making  you  shrill.  Finding  him  still  so  damn  hard  even  after  he  came  all  over  you,  he  couldn’t  hold  back  the  moan  that  came  from  sinking  even  a  few  inches  into  your  tight  ass.  The  squeal  that  came  from  you  made  his  balls  tighten  even  more.  You  were  squealing  and  panting,  squirming  against  him,  till  he  grabbed  your  hips  and  with  one  sound  push,  seated  himself  in  you  part  way,  your  own  body’s  slick  making  the  motion  easy.  Shit  were  you  wet.  It  was  everywhere.  Your  pussy  was  leaking.  Your  juices  were  smearing  over  his  thighs  and  covering  his  balls.</p>
<p>Frantic  “oh  gods”  came  from  you,  your  thighs  shook  as  your  hands  scrambled  on  the  floor  for  purchase.</p>
<p>Reaching  around  with  one  hand,  he  slowly  pushed  in  the  rest  of  the  way.  Steve  found  your  clit  in  a  mess  of  wet  tissue.  Without  any  hesitation  he  began  to  twist  it,  fondle  you,  rub  over  the  little  button  while  pushing  and  pulling  in  and  out  of  you.  His  cock  vanished  in  between  your  cheeks  almost  hypnotically.  Here  you  were  so  fucking  tight.  He’d  never  get  over  it.</p>
<p>Additional  noises  came  from  you,  more  urgent,  needier.</p>
<p>All  that  cum  he’d  used  from  you  was  bubbling  up  around  where  his  dick  went  in  and  out  of  you.  There  was  so  much  of  it.</p>
<p>Your  folds  were  so  wet,  so  warm,  so  soft.  It  didn’t  take  long  at  all  for  you  to  start  gasping  and  warning  him,  telling  him  that  you  were  so  close,  closer  and  closer.  So  close  he  could  feel  your  cunt  clench  down  tightly  on  something  that  wasn’t  there.  He  could  feel  your  frustration  in  your  pleas  and  cries  as  you  came  from  an  orgasm  that  was  accented  by  a  rigid  tightness,  an  uncomfortable  sensation  of  not  being  filled.  He  could  feel  against  his  dick  the  power  in  your  climax  and  was  almost  disappointed  that  he  didn’t  get  to  feel  it  on  his  cock.  It  would  have  been  amazing.</p>
<p>Not  that  it  was  not  good  for  you.  It  left  you  panting  on  the  floor,  face  on  the  hard  surface,  legs  shaking,  back  arched  up  as  the  pleasurable  contractions  ripped  through  you,  Steve’s  fingers  strumming  over  your  clit  still,  your  own  hand  grasping  his  messy  fingers  for  that  sense  of  connection,  his  cock  never  once  slowing  in  its  furious  pace  in  and  out  of  your  ass.</p>
<p>You  barely  noticed  when  Steve  came  deep  in  you.  Emptying  himself  in  you  with  hoarse  grunts,  deep  enough  for  his  spend  to  be  in  there  next  time.</p>
<p>“Keep  your  ass  up,”  he  told  you,  pulling  out  of  you  and  leaving  you  feeling  so  empty  without  him  buried  so  far  in  you.  “Every  single  drop  better  stay  in  there.”</p>
<p>Mindless,  mumbling,  an  agreement  came  from  you.  </p>
<p>Face  smushed  down  on  the  floor,  all  you  could  feel  was  boneless  tingling.  All  you  could  smell  was  his  sticky  ejaculate  on  your  chest  and  neck.  You  were  slippery  and  wet  and  an  urge  to  close  your  eyes  was  strong.  </p>
<p>How  it  was  possible  was  beyond  you.</p>
<p>Steve  had  just  stretched  out  your  butt  with  plans  to  do  it  again  it  seemed  and  you  were  here,  riding  high  on  a  cloud  of  post  coital  fabulousness,  having  been  manhandled  by  your  husband,  very  much  every  inch  the  physically  powerful  super  soldier  and…</p>
<p>A  hand  gripped  your  hip  firmly.</p>
<p>Before  your  brain  could  wonder  why,  your  husband  told  you  something  that  resonated.  “This  is  for  trying  to  run  away.”</p>
<p>What  was  for  trying  to…</p>
<p>Pain  exploded  from  your  backside  and  a  real,  honest  to  god,  scream  came  from  you  that  had  you  up  on  your  hands  in  a  heartbeat.  What  felt  like  a  wildfire  erupted  over  your  ass.  Steve’s  hand  on  your  thigh  held  you  tight  to  him  so  you  couldn’t  move  more  than  peering  back.  You’d  have  a  bruise  there  for  sure  of  his  hand  come  morning.  Not  that  you  were  particularly  concerned  about  that  currently.</p>
<p>Pain.  Oh  god  the  pain.</p>
<p>He’d  hit  you  with  a  belt,  on  your  ass,  for  real.</p>
<p>A  movement  that  you  barely  saw  came,  a  soft  sound  followed  and  there  was  that  all-consuming  ripping  open  of  your  soul  into  an  eternal  searing  pain.  Ok,  so  maybe  you  were  being  dramatic.  But  it  was  pain,  real  pain,  that  really  hurt,  a  lot.  A  scream  came  from  you  again  at  how  much  it  hurt.  A  for  real  scream  because  Steve  wasn’t  going  easy  on  you.  Absolutely  would  you  remember  this  for  the  rest  of  your  life.</p>
<p>“That’s  for  trying  to  leave  when  I  wasn’t  home.”</p>
<p>Oh  my  god  there  was  another  one  too.  Hadn’t  he  mentioned  something  about  you  being  mouthy?  He  was  going  to  do  this  a  third  time.  You  just  knew  it.  You  couldn’t  do  a  third  one  and  began  to  struggle  and  fight  and  squirm  and  were  rewarded  with  that  hand  holding  your  thigh  holding  you  even  tighter  against  him.</p>
<p>“Obviously  you  know  what  this  one’s  for,”  he  told  you,  right  before  lighting  up  the  rest  of  your  world  like  the  night  sky  on  New  Year’s  Eve.</p>
<p>His  final  blow  was  over  both  of  the  others  and  by  god  did  you  feel  it.  Like  ripping  out  brand  new  stitches.</p>
<p>In  fury  and  blind  rage  and  pain  you  screamed  at  him  how  much  it  hurt,  how  bad  it  hurt,  how  you  were  going  to  strangle  him  with  his  own  freaking  belt  the  second  you  got  your  hands  on  it.  Try  you  did.  With  an  ass  aflame,  you  were  whipping  around  and  hitting  him,  shoving  him,  swatting  and  clawing  and  pushing  and  raging  at  him  as  only  you  could,  on  the  floor  in  your  hallway,  so  full  of  all  of  it  you  hardly  noticed  when  both  of  your  screams  and  shouts  and  pushes  and  shoves  turned  into  something  more.  </p>
<p>A  tangling  of  your  legs.  Your  nails  sunken  into  his  back,  scratching  deep  grooves  and  clawing  ribbons  as  you  screamed  beneath  him.  Once  more  buried  inside  your  semen  coated  ass.  Each  thrust  in  was  like  a  blow,  a  thrust  that  made  his  and  your  combined  fluids  go  deeper,  or  get  pushed  out  in  a  frothy  mixture  that  neither  of  you  noticed.  Steve  was  on  top  of  you.  His  weight  bore  down  heavily,  pinning  you  beneath  him  with  no  effort  at  all.  Each  thrust  up  into  you  slammed  you  down  against  the  unyielding  surface.  Tangled  together  in  a  continued  battle  for  supremacy,  your  legs  fought  with  his,  becoming  ensnared  in  his  pants  that  had  slid  down  around  his  calves.  </p>
<p>Up  inside  you  were  three  of  Steve’s  fingers.  So  deep,  so  angrily  rubbing  that  part  within  you  nearly  as  sensitive  as  your  clit,  that  his  thumb  mercilessly  thumbed  while  he  hissed  and  snarled  in  your  ear,  bit  your  neck  hard  enough  you  knew  he  broke  the  skin  and  you  could  have  cared  less.</p>
<p>In  no  time  you  came,  crying  out,  yelling  for  Steve  as  if  he  weren’t  right  there  with  you,  succumbing  himself  to  the  release  of  your  bodies  within  the  other.  A  rolling  white  heat  swept  through  you.  Left  you  shuddering  in  its  wake.  Crying  out  tears  that  you  couldn’t  control  and  didn’t  know  why  they  burnt  free  of  you.  In  your  arms  Steve  shook  violently,  swore  vehemently,  came  inside  of  you  again,  his  dick  wedged  uncomfortably  between  your  clenching  buttocks.  In  the  meanwhile,  your  pussy  milked  his  hand  hungrily,  finally  having  something  to  spasm  around.</p>
<p>It  settled  between  you,  a  loud  silence  punctuated  by  heavy  breathing  and  noises,  a  collapsing  of  Steve  against  you.  His  cock  slipping  out  of  you.  Beneath  your  hands  his  powerful  shoulders  moved  with  every  deep  breath  of  his  chest.  Though  he  made  no  attempt  to  move  away.</p>
<p>All  you  could  do  was  breathe.  Lie  on  the  floor.  Smooth  your  fingertips  over  his  slippery  back  that  rose  and  fell  beneath  you.  Remember  how  to  breathe  and  function.  Come  back  to  yourself  rightfully  after  all  of  that.  Everything.</p>
<p>It  was  entirely  possible  that  you  felt  his  words  as  much  as  heard  them  against  you,  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>“Please  don’t  ever  go.  I’ll  be  dead  without  you.  You  can’t  leave  me.”  </p>
<p>Turning  your  head  to  face  him.  Tears  still  wet  on  your  cheeks.  You  breathed  in  his  smell.  Sweat.  Ejaculate.  Steve.  Without  having  to  lean  in  far,  you  pressed  your  mouth  to  his  nose,  damp  with  cooling  sweat.  Floor  harder  and  seemingly  wetter  beneath  you.  Legs  loose  and  limp  and  entwined  with  his  own.</p>
<p>A  soft  noise  masquerading  as  your  voice  filled  that  space  between  you  and  Steve.  “I  won’t.”</p>
<p>Beside  you  Steve  settled.  All  that  weight  and  bulk  coming  down  finally  to  rest,  if  only  for  a  bit.</p>
<p>“If  something  were  to  happen,”  he  breathed,  feeling  his  own  heart  continue  to  pound  within  the  confines  of  a  chest  that  felt  too  small.  “I’ve  made  sure  that  you  and  Peter  and  May  will  be  safe.”</p>
<p>As  touching  as  his  words  should  have  been.  They  felt  hollow  against  you,  now  especially.  “What  about  you?”  You  were  almost  afraid  to  ask.  Afraid  to  know  what  sort  of  situation  could  be  worse  than  your  current  one.  As  if  that  were  even  possible?</p>
<p>Reaching  out  with  a  slimy  hand  that  had  only  been  shoved  up  inside  of  you  moments  before.  Steve  traced  his  fingers  through  his  own  sticky  semen  on  your  throat.  Mesmerized.  Smearing  it  around.  Mixing  you  both  on  his  fingers.</p>
<p>Touched  by  your  concern  and  needing  very  much  to  touch  you,  he  murmured.  “I’d  find  you  when  it  was  safe.  You  don’t  have  to  worry.  I  have  no  intention  of  living  a  second  of  my  life  longer  than  I  have  to  without  you.  No  matter  what  we  have  to  do.  Whatever  it  takes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Much  later  that  morning…</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hard,  erratic,  violent  pounding  came  from  the  front  door,  so  insistent  and  unrelenting  that  Bucky  wondered  if  the  front  door  would  hold.</p>
<p>For  the  first  time  ever,  he  was  actually  willing  to  answer  the  door  and  hoping  there  were  problems  on  the  other  side  of  it.</p>
<p>Having  expected  something,  Bucky  had  sent  his  lovely  lady  and  sister  off  for  the  day  and  dressed  in  his  black  and  red  stealth  suit.  If  anything  was  going  to  go  down,  he  was  going  to  be  prepared  and  he  was  Captain  Hydra  after  all.  No  one  would  think  twice  if  he  showed  up  to  work  in  the  suit  instead  of  his  gym  clothes.  Hell,  they  may  even  think  he  was  adapting  in  fully  now  to  his  new  life.</p>
<p>Since  he  had  minutes  earlier  eaten  breakfast,  he  made  the  executive  decision  to  not  open  the  door  with  a  gun  in  hand.  What  with  that  edge  being  taken  off.</p>
<p>Plus,  it  could  have  been  one  of  the  neighbors.</p>
<p>The  neighbors  really  got  fussy  when  he  answered  the  door  with  a  weapon  in  hand.  Leading  him  to  wonder  if  he’d  ever  get  used  to  the  suburbs.</p>
<p>A  few  twists  of  locks.</p>
<p>A  turn  of  the  knob.</p>
<p>And  there,  over  the  threshold,  on  the  front  stoop  stood  a  dark-haired  woman  in  jeans  and  a  hippie  shirt  looking  him  over  like  he  had  personally  murdered  her  grandmother.  Which,  was  quite  possible,  all  things  considered  concerning  his  past  but  that  was  beside  the  point.</p>
<p>“Who  the  hell  are  you,”  she  immediately  demanded,  hands  on  her  hips  as  she  looked  him  over  closely  and  clearly  unhappily.</p>
<p>A  pause  came  as  he  considered  how  to  handle  this.</p>
<p>“Aunt  May?”</p>
<p>Peter’s  voice.</p>
<p>Only  sorta  glancing  back,  Bucky  was  more  surprised  than  anything  when  this  woman  pushed  past  him,  making  yet  another  noise  of  deep  displeasure  at  the  mere  sight  of  him,  as  if  he  was  ruining  her  morning  by  simply  existing.</p>
<p>“May!  You’re  here!”</p>
<p>Taking  one  more  look  out  to  be  sure  there  were  no  other  surprises,  he  shut  the  door  and  locked  it  tight.</p>
<p>“I  can’t  believe  you  came!”</p>
<p>Aunt  May?</p>
<p>The  name  was  familiar,  of  course.  Aunt  May  lived  in  Queens.  Aunt  May  had  been  spoken  of  highly  by  you  and  Peter,  referred  to  with  loving  fondness.  Such  was  evident  at  the  sight  of  Peter  throwing  his  arms  around  the  middle-aged  woman,  hugging  her  tightly  and  lifting  her  up  off  the  floor  in  an  exuberant  hug.</p>
<p>Not  exactly  hard  for  a  young  man  capable  of  physically  lifting  Steve’s  truck  up  to  move  it  across  the  garage.  Bucky  still  however  found  it  amusing,  touching  maybe,  definitely  interesting.</p>
<p>This  woman,  Aunt  May  it  seemed,  swatted  at  Peter  till  he  stopped  hopping  around  in  excited  hugging.  Informing  her  nephew  in  no  uncertain  terms,  to  release  her.  Thus  making  Bucky  tilt  his  head  and  watch  most  curiously  as  he  continued  to  finish  fastening  himself  into  his  suit.</p>
<p>“Of  course  I  came!”  This  May  woman  declared,  her  back  to  Steve  when  he  came  to  see  what  the  commotion  going  on  in  the  living  room  was  about.  Hands  waving  around.  A  gesturing  was  even  made  at  Bucky.  “You  and  your  sister  call  me  last  night.  Hysterical.  Telling  me  you  killed  someone  and  are  going  to  drive  to  Belize.  Then  I  get  out  of  the  city  and  you  call  to  tell  me  it  was  a  <em>false  alarm</em>  and  everything’s  fine.”  More  hand  waving  and  an  incredible  amount  of  uncomfortable  fidgeting  came  from  Peter.  “And  who  the  hell  is  this?  Exactly  how  many  people  do  you  have  living  in  this  house?”</p>
<p>Grateful.  Peter  couldn’t  have  been  more  grateful.</p>
<p>Eyes  widening,  he  looked  to  Bucky.  “Aunt  May,  this  is  Bucky.  Remember?  I  told  you  about  him?  Steve’s  old  friend?  He  used  to  be  the  Winter  Soldier  and  now  he’s  Captain  Hydra.  Metal  arm  guy.”</p>
<p>Only  at  mention  of  the  metal  arm  by  Peter  did  your  aunt  seem  to  have  some  flicker  of  remembrance.  Though  she  looked  Bucky  over  closely,  she  didn’t  linger  on  his  metal  hand,  as  the  rest  of  the  arm  was  hidden  in  the  suit.  What  the  Parker  Matron  did  do  was  gesture  in  Bucky’s  general  direction,  while  informing  him  and  keeping  her  attention  on  her  nephew.  “I’ll  deal  with  you  later  Captain  Bucky.”</p>
<p>Making  May  one  of  his  top  ten  favorite  new  people.  As  Bucky  was  a  big  fan  of  sassy  and  salty  women,  they  reminded  him  so  much  of  the  fleeting  memories  of  his  own  mother,  growing  up  with  his  sister.</p>
<p>“Where’s  your  sister?”</p>
<p>Peter  perked  up  at  mention  of  you  and  Bucky  began  to  pull  his  hair  back  at  the  nape  of  his  neck.  Should  he  survive  the  day,  he  was  very  much  looking  forward  to  what  would  no  doubt  be  lively  times  getting  the  third  degree  from  Aunt  May.</p>
<p>“Oh!  She’s  getting  dressed  for  work.  Come  on.  We  can  both  tell  you  everything  that’s  been  going  on.  She’ll  be  so  surprised.”</p>
<p>In  his  opinion,  that  sounded  just  fine.  Bucky  wanted  to  have  some  more  words  with  Steve  about  that  coming  day  and  with  Peter  taking  May  into  the  bedroom,  that  would  afford  them  a  degree  of  privacy  for  a  while.  He  honestly  could  not  have  planned  it  better.</p>
<p>“Oh…”</p>
<p>Oh?</p>
<p>Bucky  detected  trouble  in  paradise  at  that  tone.  Nearly  done  wrangling  his  shoulder  length  hair,  he  watched  May  look  Steve  over  in  the  same  way  he’d  seen  you  look  over  alleged  discounted  designer  wear  for  any  signs  of  fakery.</p>
<p>It  was  more  than  he  could  have  ever  hoped  for  in  terms  of  mood  lightening  that  morning.</p>
<p>Steve  could  not  have  been  any  stiffer  if  he  was  trying.  “Hello  May.  What  a  wonderful  surprise  to  have  you  drop  by  like  this.”</p>
<p>Something  very  close  to  disappoinment  came  over  her  face.  Her  mouth  turned  down.  “…you’re  still  alive.”</p>
<p>It  took  every  ounce  of  will  power  in  him  to  not  laugh.</p>
<p>Either  oblivious  or  overly  excited,  Peter  hooked  his  arm  around  May’s  elbow  to  lead  her  towards  the  hallway  and  past  Steve.  “No!  Of  course,  I  didn’t  kill  Steve.  Come  on.  I’ll  tell  you  everything.”</p>
<p>May’s  parting  glance,  in  Bucky’s  personal  opinion,  was  sharp  enough  to  cut  through  iron  and  was  the  exact  thing  that  he  needed  to  lift  the  mood  and  give  him  a  chuckle.  One  that  had  his  chest  shaking  in  amusement.</p>
<p>Steve,  not  so  much.</p>
<p>His  jaw  clenched,  followed  by  his  fists.  The  grey  slacks  with  matching  vest  he  had  on  seemed  to  tighten  as  Steve  made  an  attempt  to  gain  control  over  himself.  Which  he  had  very  little  luck  doing.</p>
<p>“Wow…”  Bucky  remarked.  “She  really  does  not  like  you,  huh?”</p>
<p>Deep  breaths  in  his  nose  and  out  his  mouth.  Deep  breaths.  Steady  breaths.  Steve  could  deal  with  this,  he  could  deal  with  it.  “No.  No  she  does  not.”</p>
<p>Nope.</p>
<p>Not  even  a  little.</p>
<p>Your  Aunt  May  had  never  warmed  up  to  him  to  put  it  lightly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Authors Note:::</p>
<p>Hello friendly readers!! I wanted to make a quick note up here to say a quick couple things and then finally post this beast of a update. I've been working on this a bit now and finally just decided to throw up my hands. Honestly, I always could write more with these two, but we're at 9400+ words so, enough is enough. </p>
<p>I know that some of you wonderful readers had been lobbying heavy for a horrible demise for Zemo in here, and the thought had crossed my mind. However, I decided to pursue some lingering ideas that will lead to the eventual conclusion of this work later this year. I had a lot of ideas and some of you have filled my head with a few lovely ideas also. Thank you so much!!</p>
<p>But it should be said, I don't know how exactly I'll end this yet. I love to write this dark hydra world. Before I write another story length piece there will be another one-chapter piece in the very near future to revisit everyone and have more Aunt May and set up more of those pieces. Thank you so much for all your comments and love. It means so much!!  &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
<p>9400+ words...ffs</p>
<p>***Content warning for mentions of torture and restraints used during sex***</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If  someone  were  to  ask,  Steve  would  freely  admit  that  there  was  nothing  sexier  than  watching  you  stand  up  at  the  podium  in  the  press  room  to  deliver  the  morning  briefing.  Ok,  so  sure,  nearly  everything  you  did  in  some  way  did  something  for  Steve.  However,  in  this  particular  situation,  he  found  himself  daily  going  downstairs  to  the  media  room  in  the  convention  center,  to  watch  you  essentially  detail  everything  that  had  just  been  discussed  in  the  Hydra  Morning  Briefings  with  top  tier  officials.  Certain  things  were  picked  to  be  told  to  the  news  stations,  papers  and  website  representatives  and  you  were  always  very  careful  to  get  all  your  details  straight.  All  your  X’s  were  crossed  and  your  I’s  were  dotted.  </p>
<p>Not  an  hour  ago  upstairs,  you’d  sat  at  the  big  oval  conference  table  with  your  fancy  purple  pen  and  notepad,  taking  a  copious  amount  of  notes  and  even  raising  your  hand  on  occasion  to  ask  a  question  when  you  needed  clarification.  Not  one  bit  intimidated  or  in  any  way  deterred  from  asking  a  question  at  a  table  full  of  Hydra.</p>
<p>Like  he  had  every  morning  since  he’d  hired  you,  Steve  found  himself  in  the  back  of  the  room  while  you  went  on  with  the  approved  news  for  all  the  news  outlets.  All  put  together.  Makeup  perfect.  Lipstick  popping  red.  Hair  perfectly  pinned  back  with  a  black  comb  that  matched  the  business-like  black  dress  you  had  on.</p>
<p>Beneath  all  of  that  immaculate  packaging,  Steve  knew  for  a  fact  that  you  had  three  marks  bruised  into  the  fleshy  part  of  your  ass.  Hidden  beneath  the  fabric  of  your  dress  and  lingerie.</p>
<p>For  Christs  sake,  it  was  almost  as  powerful  as  seeing  his  ring  on  your  hand.  A  real  ring.  The  one  that  had  been  hidden  in  his  sock  drawer  for  over  a  year  now.</p>
<p>He  really  wished  he  could  have  felt  remorse,  or  that  he  regretted  what  he  had  done.</p>
<p>Never  before  had  he  ever  been  so  mad  at  you  that  he’d  even  thought  of  taking  off  his  belt.  Never  had  you  ever  filled  him  with  so  much  terror  that  he  could  have  thrown  up,  not  even  when  he  and  Bucky  had  found  you  in  that  dumpster.</p>
<p>You  weren’t  going  anywhere.</p>
<p>Of  that,  he  was  absolutely  certain  after  last  night’s  blowout.</p>
<p>It  didn’t  feel  as  if  the  air  had  been  cleared.  Nor  had  the  slate  been  wiped  clean.  No.  The  ground  had  literally  been  cleared,  obliterated,  nothing  remained  behind  it  felt  like.  There  was  nothing  remaining  to  fight  over.  </p>
<p>Up  there  at  the  front  of  the  small  room,  packed  like  sardines  with  people  standing  and  sitting,  you  stood  at  your  podium  with  the  Hydra  emblem  behind  you,  looking  every  bit  the  powerful  figure  of  authority.  Confident  in  the  information  you  gave,  answering  questions  without  hesitation,  even  managing  to  give  off  a  seasoned  demeanor.  Why  wouldn’t  you?  Young  you  may  have  been,  but  you’d  lived  through  so  much,  much  like  Steve  had  in  his  short  pre-serum  life.</p>
<p>This  might  have  been  it.  A  seminal  event.  This  week  had  been  the  very  definition  of  trying  for  you  both.</p>
<p>On  the  other  hand…this  had  been  more  of  a  push  than  he  could  have  asked  for,  to  get  that  finality  that  this  was  the  right  thing.  Yes,  the  two  of  you  were  already  married.  There  was  no  changing  that  fact  or  getting  around  it.  Yes,  you’d  built  a  life  together  that  was  as  real  as  any  relationship  that  had  a  legitimate  start  and  yes,  the  feelings  that  the  two  of  you  felt  for  one  another  were  of  the  real  variety. </p>
<p>Before  this  week,  the  idea  of  giving  you  a  ring  that  Steve  himself  had  picked  out  like  a  real  husband  would,  like  a  real  man  in  love  would  do,  to  slide  it  on  your  finger  for  real.  It  was  a  battle  that  raged.  Would  you  accept  it?  It  wouldn’t  change  anything.  The  feelings  the  two  of  you  had  for  one  another  would  always  be  complicated.  A  ring  wouldn’t  change  the  fact  that  Hydra  had  given  him  the  love  of  his  life,  or  the  fury  associated  with  that  fact.</p>
<p>And  now?</p>
<p>He  didn’t  care  anymore.  It  didn’t  matter.  How  you  came  to  be  his  wife  wasn’t  important  when  he  saw  you  packing  the  car.  However  complicated  your  feelings  for  one  another  got,  it  didn’t  matter  when  he  thought  you  were  dead  in  a  dumpster.</p>
<p>All  these  fights  that  the  two  of  you  had  meant  nothing  in  this  context.  His  being  older  than  you  meant  nothing.  He  didn’t  even  care  anymore  that  he  had  to  marry  you  because  Hydra  wanted  to  control  you  both,  assimilate  the  two  of  you  into  this  new  life  and  keep  you  two  under  control.  It  wasn’t  anything  he  could  change.  Nothing  in  either  of  your pasts  could  be  changed.</p>
<p>All  that  mattered  now  was  taking  advantage  of  this  new  day.  A  new  day  full  of  new  opportunities  and  chances  to  set  things  right.</p>
<p>“She  is  quite  well  suited  to  deal  with  the  media  hounds.  I’d  had  my  reservations  when  I’d  heard  you’d  filled  this  position  with  your  wife.  Although  I  will  admit  to  my  mistakes.  She  is  quite  formidable.”</p>
<p>Steve  did  not  look,  turn  or  answer.</p>
<p>He’d  noticed  the  very  second  that  Colonel  Zemo  had  wandered  into  the  crowded  room.  He’d  watched  the  Sokovian  wind  his  way  along  the  back  wall,  ever  closer  to  him,  from  the  corner  of  his  eye.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Steve  could  safely  say  that  he  felt  nothing  in  regards  to  the  Sokovian  who  had  sided  up  beside  him.  Perhaps  maybe  a  detached  apathy?  All  of  that  uncontrollable  rage  that  had  pounded  through  his  body  that  week  had  gone  cold.  Not  vanished.  Instead,  turned  to  ice  in  his  veins.  Something  that  Natasha  would  have  been  proud  of.</p>
<p>Nothing  came  in  response  to  the  colonel’s  words.  </p>
<p>Not  only  did  he  have  no  comment  for  the  man,  he  could  have  cared  less  about  his  opinion  of  you  or  your  new  position  in  Hydra.</p>
<p>Steve  instead  continued  to  hold  up  the  wall.  Arms  crossed  over  his  chest  even  if  it  wrinkled  the  sleeves  of  his  soft  grey  suit.  Eyes  forward  observing  you  as  you  answered  a  question  about  the  ongoing  search  for  Maria  and  rumors  of  a  serial  killer  targeting  Hydra  Wives.  All  of  which  you  handled  with  the  grace  of  a  seasoned  professional  decades  your  senior.  Which  you  weren’t.  But  you  were  a  really  good  actor,  Steve  had  come  to  learn  over  these  years  together.</p>
<p>A  soft  lyrical  accent  spoke  low,  danced  around  him  with  grace  and  a  musical  quality  that  made  every  word  beautiful  in  itself.  “Knowing  what  I  know  now,  I  cannot  begin  to  fathom  the  sacrifices  the  two  of  you  have  made.  How  hard  it  must  have  been  for  you  to  take  her  oath  of  allegiance  this  week.”</p>
<p>Those  words  made  Steve  turn  his  head.  Look.  Observe  the  non-uniformed  military  officer,  who  was  dressed  more  like  a  college  professor  than  a  soldier.  As  Hydra  preferred  it.</p>
<p>Hydra  may  have  rung  the  bell  of  unity  and  inclusion  among  all  the  Hydra  members  worldwide  in  order  to  build  their  new  empire.  However,  there  was  a  distinct  lack  of  trust  Steve  had  noticed  from  the  very  beginning.  Which  was  the  problem  with  a  coup.  When  power  was  seized  in  a  forcible  takeover,  that  mentality  didn’t  burn  away  over  night,  to  be  taken  away  come  morning  like  ash  on  a  breeze.</p>
<p>Perhaps  the  worst  part  about  listening  to  this  man?  None  of  his  words  were  untrue.  Nothing  that  came  from  his  mouth  was  a  lie.</p>
<p>Looking  at  this  man.  This  man  that  he  could  understand  down  to  a  visceral  level.  Who  knows  what  he  would  have  done  if  Hydra  took  you  from  him,  killed  you?  Hydra  could  push  someone  to  do  unspeakable  things.  Although  to  Steve,  some  things  were  simply  unspeakable  and  the  fact  that  Helmut  could  be  so  calm  beside  him  was  telling.  He  was  not  mad  or  unbalanced.  What  had  Bucky  said?  Before  Hydra  took  over,  Helmut  had  been  in  command  of  death  squads  in  Sokovia.  Hydra  may  have  pushed  him  into  his  own  war  against  the  entity.  To  Steve,  who  was  waging  a  war  of  his  own  against  Hydra,  some  lines  one  didn’t  cross,  some  things  you  just  did  not  do.</p>
<p>For  the  first  time  since  he’d  seen  you  in  the  dumpster,  Steve  was  seeing  things  clearly.  He  was  looking  at  Helmut  and  in  complete  control  of  himself.</p>
<p>Looking  at  Helmut  now,  Steve  had  to  hand  it  to  him,  this  man  had  very  nearly  destroyed  him.  His  plan  was  effective.</p>
<p>“Would  it  be  possible  to  have  a  meeting  this  afternoon  Director?”</p>
<p>Shaking  his  head,  Steve’s  answer  was  quiet.  Simple.  Short  and  to  the  point.  “No.”</p>
<p>Undeterred,  Helmut  fixed  his  gaze  up  on  you.  Through  the  sea  of  heads  and  bodies  that  no  doubt  kept  him  from  your  line  of  sight.  “Oh?  But  there  is  much  that  we  need  to  discuss.”</p>
<p>Undoubtedly  Helmut  thought  there  was,  Steve  could  assume  and  even  agree,  had  he  wanted  to  engage  in  conversation  with  this  man.  Of  which  he  did  not.</p>
<p>“Actually…you’re  right.”  Steve  conceded,  a  tactical  mind  of  his  own  working.  Not  wanting  his  peer  to  hold  the  upper  ground.  Sending  his  hand  into  his  pants  pocket.  “I  found  this  and  suspect  it  belongs  to  you.  Your  wife?  Her  name  was  Heike?  Or  am  I  thinking  of  someone  else?”</p>
<p>That  metal  watch  dangled  down  from  Steve’s  fingers.</p>
<p>A  silence  followed.</p>
<p>Helmut’s  dark  eyes  watched  his  watch  hang  from  Steve’s  finger  like  a  pendulum.  Having  thought  it  was  lost  forever.  </p>
<p>“If  not,  I’ll  go  by  HR  to  ask  them  to  search  employee  records.  I’m  sure  whoever  lost  it  must  desperately  want  it  back.  If  it  were  mine,  if  my  wife  had  given  me  something  so  precious,  I’d  be  out  of  my  mind  to  find  it  missing.”</p>
<p>Brown  eyes  found  his  own  and  Steve  saw  Helmut  waver.  For  the  briefest  second,  he  could  see  the  man’s  façade  dim.</p>
<p>That  was  Helmut’s  Achilles  Heel.</p>
<p>Not  a  shock.</p>
<p>It  was  the  same  for  Steve.  Hydra  had  given  him  one  of  his  greatest  weaknesses.  You  might  have  driven  him  out  of  his  goddamn  mind  with  alarming  frequency.  You  also  had  a  big  compassionate  heart.  You’d  welcomed  Bucky  into  your  home,  under  the  same  roof  as  your  younger  brother  without  hesitation  when  he  was  still  a  comatose  killing  machine.  You’d  given  the  both  of  them  a  home  plus  a  younger  brother.  Everything  that  you  did  you  put  your  whole  heart  into,  all  your  efforts.  Your  love  was  unconditional.  Everything  you  gave  back  to  him  was  in  triplicate.  So  yeah,  you’d  given  him  Bucky  back  and  made  him  a  brother  and  created  a  life  with  him.  You  were  his  <em>greatest</em>  weakness  and  were  why  he  was  waging  a  very  different  war  against  Hydra  now.</p>
<p>“No.  It  is  mine,”  Helmut  answered  with  a  voice  that  shook  towards  the  end.</p>
<p>A  flicker  of  surprise  crossed  his  face  when  Steve  dropped  the  watch  in  his  palm.  A  realization  overcoming  him  then  that  he  had  most  certainly  made  a  mistake.</p>
<p>He  might  as  well  have  been  in  the  room  alone  with  Steve  for  all  he  noticed  the  surrounding  people.  As  it  was,  he  hardly  noticed  Steve  lean  closer  to  him,  as  he  held  the  only  thing  his  wife  had  given  him  that  he  had  left.  Everything  else  having  been  seized  and  destroyed  by  Hydra.</p>
<p>“We  don’t  have  anything  to  discuss.  Other  than  the  fact,  you  should  have  kept  your  hands  to  yourself.  And  let  me  assure  you,  Helmut,  we’re  going  to  resolve  that  very  soon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You  had  your  own  office  in  the  convention  center  and  whenever  the  renovations  were  made  on  the  old  Hydra  building  due  to  the  bombing,  you’d  have  your  own  office  there  too.  And  not  that  you  wanted  to  brag,  but,  your  office  in  the  convention  center  was  way  nicer  than  the  storage  closet  that  Steve  had  taken  for  his  own.</p>
<p>You  had  a  nice  new  desk.  You  had  a  new  computer.  There  were  no  posters  of  food  from  snack  vendors  or  random  items  on  storage  shelves  anywhere.</p>
<p>You  had  a  few  filing  cabinets  that  were  locked,  but  they  were  there  and  you  always  put  the  flowers  that  Peter  gave  you  on  them  to  brighten  up  your  windowless  room.</p>
<p>You  even  had  a  TV.  </p>
<p>Ok,  so  the  TV  pretty  much  only  showed  the  Worldwide  Hydra  News  24/7  Channel.  But  it  was  still  a  flat  screen  TV  mounted  to  the  wall.  That  had  to  count  for  something.  No  one  else  had  a  TV  in  their  office  along  this  corridor.  </p>
<p>You  really  did  need  to  remember  to  ask  Peter  to  find  a  remote  so  you  could  change  the  channel  though.  You  were  pretty  sick  of  Hydra  CNN  and  you’d  only  been  on  the  job  almost  a  week.  Although  it  had  been  a  productive  amount  of  time  and  lucky  for  you,  your  predecessor  had  left  all  kinds  of  helpful  notes  behind.  Notes  on  upcoming  things  planned.  Notes  on  current  projects.  Notes  on  things  to  report  to  the  European  Handlers.  Yeah,  that  particular  planner  that  you  found  in  the  top  drawer  under  a  false  bottom you’d  handed  over  to  Steve.</p>
<p>Paired  with  all  the  orientations  you’d  had  to  go  to,  half  of  which  weren’t  at  all  related  to  your  job,  it  was  safe  to  say  that  you  had  more  than  a  mountain  of  work  to  get  through.</p>
<p>Ongoing  work.  Future  work.  Work  that  your  predecessor  had  started.  Work  Steve  wanted  you  to  do.  Current  things  going  on  like  Maria’s  kidnapping  and  the  alleged  serial  killer  of  Hydra  Wives.  </p>
<p>Steve  was  for  sure  keeping  you  busy  and  it  felt  so  good.</p>
<p>Even  if  you  were  technically  working  for  the  enemy.  It  felt  good  to  be  working  with  Steve.  It  felt  good  to  be  useful,  to  be  in  the  know  of  useful  information,  to  have  a  purpose.  No  matter  how  many  stupid  Hydra  meetings  you  had  to  attend  as  a  new  member  for  the  next  few  months.  Maybe  you’d  make  a  whole  afternoon  out  of  those  classes?  Go  get  your  nails  done  before?  Go  do  some  shopping  after?  You  could  make  it  bearable.  Anything  was  bearable  with  new  shoes.</p>
<p>A  turning  of  the  knob  on  your  shut  office  door  had  you  lifting  your  head.</p>
<p>Because  you  had  shut  the  damn  thing  for  a  reason.  </p>
<p>People  would  not  stop  bothering  you  and  you  had  a  ton  of  work  to  do.  Not  that  you  particularly  wanted  to  be  a  good  worker  bee  for  Hydra.  But,  you  wanted  to  valuable  so  you  could  help  Steve  and  Bucky  in  their  ongoing  mission  to  dismantle  Hydra  internally.  </p>
<p>Speak  of  the  devil,  in  he  walked,  wearing  that  light  grey  three  piece  suit  you  were  particularly  fond  of.  And  the  jacket  was  gone.  Leaving  Steve  in  the  slacks  and  vest  with  tie  looking  practically  good  enough  eat.</p>
<p>“What  did  Colonel  Zemo  have  to  say?”</p>
<p>Because  you’d  seen  Steve  in  your  morning  briefing  like  usual.  Colonel  Zemo  had  been  there  too  and  rather  surprisingly,  you  weren’t  at  all  frightened,  or  scared.  Maybe  it  was  because  you  knew  what  Steve  and  Bucky  had  in  store  for  the  Sokovian.  They’d  shared  their  plan  on  the  way  to  work  that  morning  and  even  you  had  to  admit,  there  were  some  things  way  worse  than  death.</p>
<p>Your  husband,  the  regional  Director  of  Hydra,  shut  your  office  door  and  with  a  click,  locked  it.</p>
<p>Your  eyes  went  back  down  to  your  paperwork.</p>
<p>His  answer  was  flat.  Unaffected  it  seemed.  You  suspected  otherwise  but  quickly  finished  what  you’d  been  writing  and  signed  your  name  to  the  bottom  of  the  report,  in  something  very  close  to  haste.</p>
<p>“Not  much.  Spoke  highly  of  you.  Wanted  to  speak  with  me  later.  Nothing  we  didn’t  anticipate.”</p>
<p>Feet  were  heavy  on  your  linoleum  floor  even  in  loafers,  due  to  the  sheer  immense  size  of  him.  And  at  his  calm  words,  you  made  a  snorting  noise,  capped  your  pen  and  stapled  the  report  together  to  slide  into  a  folder  that  went  into  your  Out  Box  on  the  edge  of  your  desk.  “Did  you  give  him  back  his  watch?”</p>
<p>A  paper  sack  from  your  favorite  little  lunch  place  around  the  corner  was  placed  onto  your  desk.  Followed  by  a  bottle  of  sweet  tea  and  a  far  larger  bottle  of  water.</p>
<p>Your  husband  was  quite  the  dichotomy  of  a  human  being.  Or  so  your  tender  ass  reminded  you.  Making  you  smirk  just  a  little  bit.</p>
<p>“I  did.  He  should  have  it  where  he’s  going.  He’s  going  to  need  all  the  strength  he  can  get.”</p>
<p>You  weren’t  about  to  disagree  with  that  fact.</p>
<p>Not  that  you  would.  Considering  what  he’d  done  to  you  and  the  Hydra  Wives  alone.  Helmut  deserved  what  was  coming  to  him  but  even  you  had  to  shudder  at  the  thought.  Was  this  an  abuse  of  power?  Was  this  too  much?  Would  it  just  be  more  humane  to  put  him  out  of  his  misery?  Like  some  sort  of  a  rabid  creature?  </p>
<p>Until  you  remembered  your  terror  and  fear  and  the  knowledge  of  what  would  come  if  you  had  allowed  yourself  to  be  captured  in  the  parking  garage  at  Target.</p>
<p>With  grace  that  didn’t  belong  on  a  man  his  size,  Steve  slipped  around  behind  your  desk  beside  you.  Placed  an  arm  on  the  back  of  your  chair  that  felt  heavy  against  your  back.  A  tender  kiss  was  placed  on  the  top  of  your  head.</p>
<p>“Has  Bucky  arrested  him,”  you  wanted  to  know,  even  though  your  breath  shook  from  what  he  was  doing  to  you.  Nothing  at  all.  Steve  wasn’t  doing  anything  at  all  to  you.  He  was  barely  touching  you.  The  kiss  he  placed  on  you  was  chaste  for  him  and  god  did  he  smell  good.  His  cologne  warm  and  spicy  but  not  overpowering.</p>
<p>“Mmmhmmm…”  Steve’s  warm  breath  blew  out  over  your  hair,  curled  artfully  so  earlier  that  day.  It’d  taken  you  years  to  master  the  curls  and  swoops  that  now  you  could  pull  off  in  an  hour.  “His  team  is  searching  Zemo’s  apartment  right  now.  Everything  will  be  over  soon.”</p>
<p>Steve’s  arm  brushed  against  the  back  of  your  neck.  A  hot  chill  went  through  you  that  had  an  icy  sweat  break  out  over  the  small  of  your  back.</p>
<p>On  the  ride  over  you’d  wondered  if  Bucky  even  had  arrest  powers.  Now,  you  could  have  cared  less.  Soon  it  would  all  be  over.</p>
<p>“Are  you  actually  sitting  on  a  pillow?”</p>
<p>Indeed  you  were.  It’d  taken  you  a  while  to  track  one  down  in  the  entire  convention  center.  However,  you  had  found  one  and  weren’t  at  all  ashamed.  Not  one  bit.  Nor  were  you  about  to  cow  down  before  your  deliciously  attired  spouse.  </p>
<p>A  hum  came  from  you  as  you  eyed  the  paper  sack  containing  your  lunch.  He  really  was  on  a  level  all  of  his  own.  “Mmmm.  My  crazy  husband  spanked  me  to  within  an  inch  of  my  life  last  night.  It’s  a  miracle  I  can  even  stand.  What’d  you  get  me?”</p>
<p>Down  Steve  leaned,  in  order  to  press  his  mouth  against  the  shell  of  your  ear.  Run  his  tongue  down  the  sensitive  part.  Toy  with  your  earring  and  leave  hot  wet  marks  in  his  wake.  “Your  favorite,”  came  first,  followed  by  a  nip  of  teeth  to  your  ear  lobe  that  had  you  shiver  and  wiggle  away,  reaching  up  to  rub  your  ear  at  the  sensation.  “Well  did  you  learn  your  lesson?”</p>
<p>Did  you  learn  your  lesson?</p>
<p>Honestly,  yeah  probably,  you  weren’t  leaving  him  and  now  you  were  feeling  better.  Knowing  that  Zemo  would  no  longer  be  a  threat  was  helpful.  Knowing  that  Steve  could  and  would  handle  any  accusations  made  against  any  of  you,  that  there  was  an  actual  plan  in  place,  it  left  you  feeling  lighter  than  you  had  in  a  while.  </p>
<p>And  that  spanking,  well,  it  had  been  the  cherry  on  top.</p>
<p>That  spanking  led  you  to  turn  your  head,  find  yourself  so  close  to  his  face  that  your  nose  brushed  his  and  you  could  see  how  very  blue  his  eyes  were.  Breathtaking  as  always.  </p>
<p>“Steve…I’m  not  even  going  to  lie  to  you.  I’m  not  going  anywhere,  so  don’t  freak  about  that  anymore.  I’m  good.  I’m  ok,  everything’s  gonna  be  ok  now.  But…last  night,  you  were  crazy  mad  and  possessive  and  it  was  really  hot.  Easily  way  up  in  my  top  ten  for  sexy  times  and  top  three  for  butt  stuff.  You  were  off  the  charts  and  my  ass  is  going  to  hurt  for  a  bit…but,  I’m  definitely  going  to  do  my  best  to  get  you  there  again.”</p>
<p>Steve  was  quiet.</p>
<p>He  watched  you,  observed  really.  Unable  to  take  his  eyes  off  you.  Making  it  hard  for  you  to  get  a  read  on  Steve  and  how  he  felt  about  the  words  that  came  from  your  mouth.  </p>
<p>“Doll?  Did  you  like  being  spanked?”</p>
<p>As  if  you  could  lie  to  that  question.  Your  face  would  have  never  allowed  such  a  thing  to  happen  and  you  snorted.  You  leaned  back  in  your  seat,  rolling  your  eyes  at  the  audacity.  “Please.  It  hurt  like  a  bitch.  But  you  made  me  come  so  hard,  I  can  still  feel  it  in  my  ass  when  I  sit  down.  I  don’t  think  you  have  ever  been  that  crazy  in  bed  and  I  want  to  feel  like  that  again.  You  know…after  my  butt  stops  feeling  like  it’s  been  ravaged  by  the  sun.”</p>
<p>Still  regarding  you  closely,  almost  unsure  of  how  to  respond  to  this  confession  from  you.  What  had  transpired  between  the  two  of  you  last  night.  And  now  this  pillow.  Steve  could  not  help  but  reach  down  with  a  long  arm  to  pull  at  the  hem  of  your  business  attire.  “Ravaged  by  the  sun?”</p>
<p>Your  dress  was  tailored  to  fit  you  closely,  hug  your  shape  while  being  traditional  and  conservative.  The  material,  it  turned  out,  had  some  give.  </p>
<p>Enough  movement  for  him  to  push  the  hemline  up  your  legs,  over  your  slippery  nude  tights  that  only  reached  your  thighs  where  they  were  held  up  by  garter  clips.  Pushing  up  further  to  reveal  the  nude  garters  resting  against  the  smooth  flesh  of  your  thighs,  and  a  soft  dusting  of  curls.</p>
<p>Leaving  you  only  barely  able  to  croak  out  a,  “Mmmhmm…the  sun,  yes…”  </p>
<p>Steve  found  himself  kneeling  down  between  your  knees.  Kneeling  on  the  floor  and  pushing  the  fabric  of  your  dress  up  to  your  navel.  Up  to  the  top  of  the  nude  garter  belt  that  you  both  were  so  fond  of  by  now.  </p>
<p>Tracing  his  fingers  over  the  lines  that  encircled  your  thighs,  lines  that  led  up  to  the  garter  belt  that  rested  against  your  abdomen  up  high  on  your  waist.  All  while  making  no  hurried  gestures  to  touch  your  uncovered  sex.  Each  movement  reverent  in  a  way.</p>
<p>“Do  you  like  it  when  I’m  firm  with  you?”</p>
<p>Firm?</p>
<p>That  was  quite  a  delicate  was  to  phrase  it  and  his  voice  held  hints  of  that  sought  after  authority.  </p>
<p>If  Steve  decided  to  plop  you  up  on  the  desk  and  fuck  you  five  ways  to  Sunday,  you  would  have  let  him.  If  he  would  have  buried  his  face  between  your  legs  and  feasted  like  a  starving  man,  you  wouldn’t  have  done  a  thing  to  stop  him.  His  delicate  touches  were  practically  too  much  while  simultaneously  being  not  enough.</p>
<p>A  hiss  that  sounded  nothing  like  you  came  in  response  to  the  questions.  “Yes.”  Followed  by  a  shuddery,  shaky,  almost  sob.</p>
<p>Secure  in  the  knowledge  that  if  he  continued  on  this  course  of  action,  Steve  would  very  much  end  up  tossing  you  up  on  your  desk  and  going  at  you  like  a  wild  animal,  he  leaned  down  to  place  a  kiss  on  a  hint  of  your  clit,  hidden  beneath  your  pussy  lips  and  lush  skin.  After  that  he  most  politely  tugged  down  your  dress.  </p>
<p>“Tonight.  Later  tonight.”  </p>
<p>Exhibiting  great  care,  he  gave  the  material  little  pulls  till  it  reached  your  knees  once  more.  Only  then,  only  when  everything  was  covered  as  it  had  been,  did  Steve  look  up  to  meet  your  narrowed  gaze  down  at  him.</p>
<p>“Tease,”  you  venomously  accused.</p>
<p>In  his  back  pocket  he  felt  his  phone  buzz.  Not  that  he  would  dare  answer  it  in  your  presence,  not  like  this,  when  you  were  like  this,  so  vulnerable  and  open  to  him.  Instead  he  rose  up  to  kiss  your  cheek.  Promising  hotly  against  the  curve  of  your  face.  “Later.  I  promise.  Be  sure  to  eat  lunch.  You’ll  need  your  strength  for  later.”</p>
<p>Narrower  your  eyes  narrowed.</p>
<p>He  was  such  a  goddamn  tease.</p>
<p>Not  that  you  were  about  to  skip  lunch  to  make  some  sort  of  a  point.  You  were  ravenous  and  he’d  gotten  you  your  favorite  by  the  sounds  of  it.  So  yes,  you  would  eat  to  placate  your  insufferable  tease  of  a  husband.</p>
<p>Besides,  after  last  night,  what  was  the  worst  he  could  do? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Deciding  what  to  do  with  Zemo  in  the  end  had  been  a  quick  decision,  all  the  pieces  of  a  puzzle  Steve  had  been  putting  together  hadn’t  quite  matched  up  in  his  blind  rage.  </p>
<p>Until,  well,  he’d  gotten  a  spark  of  inspiration.  </p>
<p>A  call  had  been  made  in  the  wee  early  hours.  Things  fell  into  place  far  too  quickly  for  comfort  and  still…they  felt  right.  As  if  he  were  looking  at  everything  through  fresh  eyes  after  last  night.  After  burying  Maria.  After  having  the  slap  of  seeing  you  packing  your  car.  After  your  fight. </p>
<p>Finding  himself  going  upstairs  to  private  meeting  rooms  meant  for  conferences,  Steve  could  feel  the  weight  of  the  world  lift  from  him.</p>
<p>One  foot  led  the  other  down  the  hallway.  </p>
<p>His  jacket  was  still  in  his  office.  He  hadn’t  wanted  to  waste  the  time  going  back  to  get  it.  Not  when  time  was  an  issue.  </p>
<p>The  guest  from  Hydra’s  European  Command  was  only  in  DC  briefly  and  he  knew  that  he  was  lucky  they  could  change  their  stone-like  schedule  by  a  few  hours,  long  enough  to  swing  by  and  grab  Zemo.  And  was  the  only  reason  he  wasn’t  in  your  office  with  his  face  in  your  lap.  It  had  been  agonizing  after  hearing  your  confession  and  watching  you  unfold  so  beautifully  beneath  him.  But,  he’d  make  it  up  to  you  later.  He  most  definitely  would  in  a  celebration.  He  would  make  very  sure  it  was  another  night  you’d  never  forget,  even  with  your  aunt  staying  down  the  hall  in  Bucky’s  room.</p>
<p>How  tempting  it  had  been  to  offer  to  put  May  up  in  a  hotel  room.  Hell,  the  most  expensive  in  DC  with  whatever  room  service  the  woman  wanted  to  get  her  away.  Not  that  he  would.  Not  when  he  knew  what  happiness  she  brought  to  you  and  Peter  with  all  of  her  unconditional  love  and  whatnot.  He  could  deal  with  this  little  visit.  After  this  week,  Aunt  May  was  nothing  but  a  minor  little  inconvenience.  </p>
<p>Outside  of  a  nondescript  door,  stood  two  armed  men  Steve  recognized  as  members  of  the  Tactical  Team  and  resistance.  God  could  he  not  wait  to  get  back  to  the  Hydra  Offices  when  they  were  fully  renovated.  The  convention  center  was  fine.  It  just  wasn’t  as  secure  as  he’d  prefer  for  meetings  like  these.  What  Steve  would  have  given  for  a  helipad  up  on  the  roof,  a  secured  floor,  biometric  security  systems.</p>
<p>Both  heavily  geared  up  men  moved  aside,  before  they  even  had  to  be  asked  and  Steve  made  sure  to  greet  them  both  with  a  nod.  It  never  cost  anything  extra  to  be  polite.</p>
<p>After  pulling  open  the  door  that  led  into  a  large  meeting  room,  with  a  table  that  stretched  the  length  of  the  room,  easily  seating  thirty  people  or  so,  Steve  was  greeted  to  the  sounds  of  two  voices  talking  and  the  sight  of  two  familiar  faces.</p>
<p>Bucky  sat  on  one  side  of  the  table.  Legs  stretched  out.  Booted  feet  resting  up  on  said  table  in  his  Captain  Hydra  Stealth  suit,  his  hair  pulled  back  with  an  almost  amused  expression  on  his  face.  One  metal  hand  and  one  flesh  hand  folded  on  the  top  of  his  head.  As  always,  he  looked  like  he  could  stand  to  shave.</p>
<p>Across  from  him  sat  Natasha  Romanov.</p>
<p>Dressed  every  bit  the  political  leader  she  was,  having  seized  control  of  Russia  in  a  swift  political  coup.  One  that  had  made  many  things  far  more  easy,  as  well  as  more  complex,  for  Steve.</p>
<p>She’d  dyed  her  hair  blonde  sometime  recently  it  seemed  and  was  dressed  in  a  Hydra  red  power  suit.  A  black  octopus  pin  sat  up  on  her  chest.  Merely  the  sight  of  Steve  made  her  smile  in  much  the  same  way  a  big  predatory  animal  would.</p>
<p>“Did  you  get  him  on  your  plane?”</p>
<p>Though  Natasha  may  have  turned  her  chair  for  a  good  look  at  Steve,  she  did  not  rise,  merely  greeted  him  with  that  cold  imitation  of  a  smile.  “My  widows  did.  Many  thanks  Rogers.  You  have  no  idea  how  long  we’ve  been  looking  for  that  man.”</p>
<p>Steve  may  have  had  an  idea.</p>
<p>A  distant  memory  of  Natasha  mentioning  him  a  long  time  ago  had  hit  like  a  bubble  rising  to  the  surface  and  after,  he  made  his  early  morning  call.  Other  distant  memories  always  floated  up  to  the  surface  whenever  he  got  to  speak  to,  or  see  his  friend  from  his  former  life.  Whatever  had  been  done  to  her  after  their  capture,  Steve  suspected  it  pushed  her  back  into  the  shell  of  her  former  self.  Back  into  the  mindset  where  the  amount  of  red  in  her  ledger  was  a  good  thing,  as  well  as  a  thing  in  which  to  be  proud  of.</p>
<p>“Two  of  the  guys  are  in  the  ER.  He  was  not  at  all  happy  when  he  realized  who’s  plane  he  was  getting  on,”  Bucky  threw  in  for  good  measure,  further  confirming  to  Steve  that  they  had  made  the  right  choice.   </p>
<p>Last  night,  when  he’d  had  time  to  think  in  bed  with  you,  he’d  realized  that  merely  killing  Zemo  would  have  been  the  lesser  evil.  The  Sokovian  wanted  to  die.  He  wanted  to  be  reunited  with  his  family  and  put  out  of  his  misery.  Steve  knew  that  exact  feeling.  Steve  knew  what  it  looked  like.  No  one  had  put  Steve  out  of  his  misery  after  his  reeducation.  Needless  to  say,  he  wasn’t  about  to  do  Zemo  any  favors  either.</p>
<p>Something  that  looked  very  much  like  disappointment  flickered  over  Natasha’s  face.  Leaning  to  the  side,  her  lips  twitched.  “Where  is  your  better  half?  When  do  I  get  to  meet  your  Hydra  approved  bride?”</p>
<p>A  scowl,  or  something  very  close  to  it,  came  over  Steve.  </p>
<p>Into  the  room  he  further  walked.  </p>
<p>Went  over  to  the  table  which  he  plopped  down  partially  on  and  partially  against.</p>
<p>It  was  Bucky  who  spoke  up.  Answering  the  questions  for  Steve  for  the  sake  of  time.  “Knowing  her,  she’s  downstairs  working.  She’s  probably  the  only  one  of  us  who  takes  her  job  seriously.”</p>
<p>Green  eyes  narrowed  curiously.  A  blood  red  nail  tapped  white  teeth.  “I  noticed.  Whenever  she’s  on  the  TV  she  does  a  remarkable  job.  What  are  your  plans  for  her?”</p>
<p>To  the  point.</p>
<p>Straight  to  the  point.</p>
<p>Nat  had  always  been  like  that.  It  was  one  of  the  numerous  reasons  why  Steve  had  respected  her  since  the  day  they’d  met.  Even  more  so  now,  knowing  what  sort  of  hell  she’d  have  to  have  gone  through  at  the  hands  of  Hydra  too.</p>
<p>What  were  his  plans  for  you?</p>
<p>At  first,  all  those  years  ago,  there  had  been  no  plans  for  you.  Back  when  he  really  could  have  cared  less  about  anything.  Now  though,  now  things  were  very  different.  Steve  stretched  out  his  long  legs  and  didn’t  fail  to  notice  Bucky’s  silence  at  this  question.</p>
<p>Folding  his  hands  on  his  lap,  he  looked  at  his  friend  and  answered  her  question  with  a  quiet  honesty.  “She’s  my  wife.”</p>
<p>“If  I’m  taking  her  and  her  family  to  the  Motherland  with  me  if  the  worst  should  happen  one  day,  she  must  be  more  than  your  wife.”</p>
<p>Seeing  through  Steve  was  never  difficult.</p>
<p>Seeing  that  rawness  on  his  face  intrigued  her  greatly.</p>
<p>When  Steve  called  her,  she’d  been  surprised.  She’d  been  even  more  shocked  to  learn  that  the  same  man  who  had  killed  one  of  her  sister  Widows,  chopped  her  up  into  pieces,  had  encountered  Steve’s  little  Hydra  appointed  spouse.  Her  shock  could  not  be  measured  when  she  learned  that  you’d  fought  him  off  enough  to  escape.  As  far  as  Natasha  knew,  you’d  been  the  only  person  to  do  so.</p>
<p>“She’s  my  wife.  She’s  in  this  as  deep  as  the  three  of  us.”  A  few  pieces  of  hair  slipped  forward  over  Steve’s  forehead  when  he  peered  down  at  his  hands,  at  the  simple  band  on  his  hand.  All  scratched  up.  Tarnished.  Having  stood  the  test  of  time  over  the  past  few  years.  It  no  longer  felt  suffocating  or  imprisoning.  Like  it  had  when  it  was  first  slid  on  his  hand.  “I  love  her.  She’s  everything  to  me.”</p>
<p>A  subtle  glance  was  shifted  towards  the  former  Winter  Soldier.</p>
<p>An  unasked  question  on  Natasha’s  curious  face.</p>
<p>With  Steve’s  back  to  him,  he  simply  nodded.  A  confirmation.  An  assurance.  An  agreement  for  Natasha’s  clarification  and  peace  of  mind.</p>
<p>Finding  that  more  so  interesting,  she  tapped  at  her  bottom  lip.  “I  want  to  meet  her  when  I  come  back  for  my  official  visit.”  She  so  badly  wanted  to  meet  you,  get  to  speak  with  you  and  get  a  feel  for  you.  Get  to  look  in  your  eyes  to  see  what  these  two  super  soldiers  saw  and  what  Zemo  had  dealt  with  in  that  parking  garage.  The  one  Bucky  had  told  her  about  before  Steve  came  in.  Steve  had  taken  the  steps  to  make  you  a  member  of  Hydra,  placed  you  in  a  position  where  you’d  have  access  to  all  information  and  the  ability  to  disseminate  it.  </p>
<p>“You  will,”  he  nodded,  agreeing,  rubbing  the  solid  metal  around  his  finger.  “We’ll  have  dinner  at  my  house  when  you  come  back  for  your  state  visit.”</p>
<p>Bored  with  that  particular  conversation,  Bucky  scooted  down  further  in  the  chair.  Metal  plates  in  his  arm  shifting  around  to  make  adjustments,  movements  that  the  human  muscle  in  his  other  arm  discreetly  made  unseen  beneath  his  sleeve  and  flesh.  </p>
<p>“So  what’re  you  gonna  do  with  him?  Bring  him  with  you  on  your  stops  here?  Or  send  him  back  ahead  of  you?”</p>
<p>Much  like  that  animal  playing  with  wounded  prey,  Natasha  considered  the  question  posed  about  Zemo’s  fate.  She  lowered  her  hand  to  tap  her  painted  nails  on  the  office  table.  A  very  excited  look  danced  over  her  features.  “Currently,  he  is  on  his  way  back  across  the  Atlantic  as  we  speak.”  Over  the  next  few  days  she  had  a  few  stops  to  make,  a  few  things  to  pick  up,  people  to  see  and  then  it  was  all  business,  all  an  act  back  here  in  DC  and  then  Manhattan,  then  finally  back  to  Moscow  where  her  Widow’s  waited.  “We  found  your  old  chair.  He’ll  be  the  first  in  our  new  test  program.  I  figured  why  not?  Helmut  can  be  put  to  good  use  for  a  while,  atone  for  what  he’s  done  and  since  he  is  so  eager  to  bring  down  Hydra,  he  can  be  the  trial  step  in  the  next  phase  of  Steve’s  plan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Down  the  hall  Aunt  May  slept.</p>
<p>Of  that  Steve  was  certain.  Not  just  because  dinner  had  been  a  loud  large  affair,  involving  Bucky’s  sister  and  girlfriend  over  in  Rebecca’s  yard.  Your  Aunt  May  had  cooked  an  Italian  Feast  and  over  good  food  paired  with  better  wine,  conversations  had  flowed  easily.  It’d  felt  normal.  It  felt  like  what  family  gatherings  should  feel  like,  he  assumed  anyway.</p>
<p>Peter  had  told  story  after  story,  making  May  laugh  about  his  school  and  training,  along  with  what  Bucky  and  Steve  had  him  doing.</p>
<p>You’d  been  your  usual  argumentative  self  when  Peter  spilled  stories  about  your  accident-prone  antics  to  May,  resulting  in  heated  exchanges  that  led  to  uproarious  laughter  and  you  holding  your  tender  side,  from  laughing  far  too  hard.  </p>
<p>Between  Steve  and  Bucky  and  Peter,  there  were  no  leftovers.</p>
<p>Three  bottles  of  wine  had  been  polished  off.  Though  you  only  drank  a  single  glass,  knowing  that  Steve  wouldn’t  take  you  to  bed  if  he  even  suspected  you  were  anywhere  within  the  realm  of  buzzed,  forget  tipsy.  And  wine  was  good  and  all.  But  Steve  was  far  better.  He  was  so  much  better.</p>
<p>You  had  noticed  May  frown  when  you’d  quit  at  one  glass.  Knew  she  probably  suspected  Steve  was  the  reason  why,  so  you  pled  work  in  the  morning  and  knew  she  was  doubtful  based  on  her  expression  and  the  way  she  felt  about  Steve.  Though  you  weren’t  about  to  admit  the  real  reason  you’d  quit  at  one  glass.  Being  the  fact,  you  wanted  to  get  dicked  down  like  you  were  sending  your  super  soldier  off  to  war.</p>
<p>May  herself  had  several  glasses  of  wine  over  dinner  and  boy  were  you  thankful,  beyond  grateful.  </p>
<p>Last  night,  something  had  overcome  Steve  and  it  appeared  to  still  be  nestled  deep  in  him.</p>
<p>Firm.  Yes,  he  was  being  firm.  Firm  was  a  good  word  for  it.  Firm  worked.  Firm  was  all  you  could  think  about.</p>
<p>Several  glasses  of  red  wine,  plus  a  big  meal,  had  hopefully  rendered  May  dead  to  the  world  in  Bucky’s  room.  Or  so  you  hoped  and  prayed.</p>
<p>Wrapped  around  your  head  was  one  of  your  silk  scarves.  Three  times  it  encircled  your  mouth,  a  little  knot  consisting  of  both  ends  tied  snugly  in  your  mouth.  Keeping  you  from  crying  out  too  loudly.  Preventing  anything  more  than  moans,  low  groans,  occasional  whimpers  or  cries  from  getting  through  the  colorful  silk.</p>
<p>Without  a  doubt,  something  had  gotten  into  Steve.  Something  wicked  and  dark  and  absolutely  delectable.  Something  that  you  wanted  to  scoop  up  with  a  spoon  to  save  for  the  future.</p>
<p>Using  another  silk  scarf  of  yours,  he’d  bound  your  wrists.  Not  for  the  first  or  second,  not  the  third,  fourth  or  even  fifth  time,  you  found  yourself  helpless  in  your  marital  bed  to  him  that  night.  Aunt  May  down  the  hallway  sleeping.  Moonlight  beaming  in  through  your  window  across  his  broad  back.  Wiggling  like  a  worm  on  the  hot  sidewalk  with  your  ass  pulled  up  to  the  edge  of  the  bed.  Allowing  the  former  Avenger  to  take  refuge  between  your  spread  legs.  Have  you  as  he  wanted,  as  many  times  as  he  wanted,  till  whenever  he  was  done.</p>
<p>One  time  after  another,  after  another,  Steve  took  you  apart.  Feasted  on  you.  Devoured  you.  Took  immense  enjoyment  from  your  multiple  climaxes,  growing  harder  and  harder  himself,  till  he  hung  thick  and  heavy  between  his  thighs.  Pre-Ejaculate  ran  from  his  crown  onto  his  leg  or  the  floor.  It  smeared  on  his  feverish  flesh  with  every  sound  swing  against  his  thigh.  Or  dripped  down  to  the  floor  with  every  second  that  passed,  with  Steve  not  fulfilling  what  nature  demanded  of  you  two.  Not  long  ago  he’d  taken  a  break  to  strip  off  his  clothes,  to  make  himself  more  comfortable,  so  he  could  return  back  to  your  soft  flesh  and  enjoy  every  sweet  moment  he  spent  there  pleasuring  you.</p>
<p>Beneath  his  mouth  he  felt  you  twist  once  more.  Another  series  of  spasms  and  shaking,  moaning  cries  came  stifled  from  behind  your  gag.  Perspiration  grew  between  the  both  of  you  on  your  respective  bodies.</p>
<p>Fingers  dug  into  his  damp  hair  as  your  legs  kicked  out,  trembled  against  him  in  your  body’s  unwinding  beneath  his  nimble  mouth.  </p>
<p>That  time,  he’d  made  you  come  from  sucking  on  your  overly  sensitive  clit  alone.</p>
<p>Uncontrollable  tremors  shook  you.  Inhuman  noises  came  from  you  that  sounded  almost  like  pained  pleas,  perhaps  even  a  sob.</p>
<p>Before  you  on  his  knees,  bathed  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  lamp,  Steve  parted  you  to  look  at  what  he  had  done.  Flushed.  Swollen.  Pussy  lips  engorged  from  the  near  constant  attention.  Twisted  up  in  your  climax  and  wet,  saturated  even.  A  usual  soft,  trim,  nest  of  curls  was  sticky.  Arousal  ran  down  your  slit,  down  over  your  second  puckered  hole  and  eventually  onto  the  bed.  Not  a  part  of  your  sex  was  dry  or  damp.  You  were  wet  from  yourself  and  Steve’s  saliva.  It  had  smeared  over  his  face  to  such  an  extent  it  was  all  he  could  smell.  All  he  could  feel  on  his  face  was  you  mixed  with  him.</p>
<p>All  night  he  could  spend  doing  this.</p>
<p>He  loved  doing  this,  going  down  on  you.  He  loved  the  taste  of  you.  He  loved  feeling  your  skin  that  hugged  his  cock  so  tight  on  his  tongue.  He  loved  how  your  pussy  twitched  on  his  mouth.  Playing  with  your  clit.  Seeing  how  many  times  he  could  make  you  orgasm.  Hearing  how  desperate  you  got  after  a  few  cimaxes.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  better.</p>
<p>Slipping  two  fingers  up  inside  of  you  allowed  him  to  feel  your  vaginal  walls  clench  around  him,  tighten  and  milk  his  digits.  Further  he  pushed  himself  up  into  your  sopping  wet  heat.  Squishy  noises  came  out  at  the  intrusion.  A  guttural  whine  of  relief  at  finally  being  penetrated  by  something  came  from  behind  your  gag.</p>
<p>Up  until  he  leaned  down  to  drag  his  tongue  up  through  your  puffy  lips,  till  he  came  to  your  considerably  overstimulated  clit  and  that,  he  took  in  his  mouth.  Sucking  it  deep  into  his  hot  cavern,  so  he  could  toy  with  your  pearl  with  his  tongue  to  his  content.  Suck  it  so  deep  suckling  noises  filled  the  air.  Followed  by  sobs,  frantic  almost  discernable  pleas  and  gasps  came  from  you.</p>
<p>Steve’s  fingers  dove  further  till  they  could  go  no  more  and  then  curled  down.  Pushing  against  a  part  of  you  that  would  destroy  you.</p>
<p>Like  a  possessed  creature,  your  heels  kicked  down  for  purchase,  to  get  a  foothold,  finding  none  on  the  slippery  expanse  of  his  broad  back.</p>
<p>Between  his  thighs  his  balls  hung  heavy.  His  dick  twitched  painfully,  begging  for  friction,  for  anything,  for  your  warm  wetness  to  sink  into  and  deposit  the  load  that  filled  each  weighty  globe.</p>
<p>No  relief  came  when  you  keened  behind  your  gag,  in  what  would  have  been  a  scream  had  he  not  taken  that  step,  you  surely  would  have  awoken  your  aunt.  </p>
<p>Either  from  his  curled  fingers  stroking  that  rough  patch  within  your  walls,  or  his  rubbing  your  nerve  filled  little  button  so  vigorously  with  his  tongue,  it  didn’t  really  matter.  All  that  really  mattered  was  how  your  thighs  jumped  and  clenched  over  his  shoulders  as  your  body  went  rigid,  as  another  climax  claimed  you.  Pained  sobs  filled  with  begging  came  from  you,  wailing  noises  that  could  have  otherwise  been  shrieks  at  the  back  to  back  orgasms  Steve  had  pushed  you  into. </p>
<p>A  heavy  arm  came  to  rest  over  your  tummy.  Pinning  you  down  to  the  bed.  Not  allowing  you  to  move,  making  you  stay  where  you  were,  making  you  take  everything  he  gave  you  and  not  once  did  Steve  let  your  clit  pop  out  of  his  mouth.  Not  for  a  second  did  he  pull  his  fingers  out  of  you.  If  anything,  Steve  prolonged  your  rapture  as  long  as  he  possibly  could  manage.</p>
<p>Gasping  came  from  you,  cries  followed.  Almost  in  a  perfect  bow  your  shoulders  sank  down  while  your  body  twisted  in  its  shuddering  release.  Deep  gasping  came  from  your  lungs  at  the  mind-numbing  pleasure.</p>
<p>If  the  top  of  your  head  was  missing,  you  would  not  have  been  shocked.</p>
<p>Against  his  back  your  calves  were  wet.  You  swore  you  could  feel  your  vagina  twist  against  his  face  and  you  were  so  far  gone,  you  could  not  have  brought  yourself  to  care.  Explosions  were  going  off  in  your  body  that  felt  excruciatingly  good.  The  pleasure  was  all  consuming.  Your  brain  had  turned  to  mush  and  you  were  shaking,  you  were  so  overwhelmed  that  you  were  <em>shaking</em>  in  your  climax.</p>
<p>Babbling  begging  fell  from  your  lips.  Heaving  made  your  chest  rise  and  fall,  your  breasts  moved  freely  each  time.  Hot  tears  rolled  from  your  eyes  into  your  hair.  It  was  so  much,  too  much,  not  enough.</p>
<p>Maybe  Steve  was  trying  to  kill  you?</p>
<p>That  was  it,  that  had  to  be  it.</p>
<p>Distantly  you  realized  at  some  point,  your  legs  were  dangling  down,  free,  no  longer  up  and  slung  over  Steve’s  heated  shoulders.  In  no  way  were  you  able  to  do  more  than  notice  that  fact  though.  Hands  gripped  you  around  the  waist  to  drag  you  up  the  bed.  Yeah,  you  just  barely  sorta  noticed  that  addition  to  the  party  your  body  was  throwing.</p>
<p>Additionally,  there  was  Steve  climbing  up  on  you,  kissing  your  face,  smearing  your  own  cum  on  your  cheeks  and  nose  and  chin.  Digging  at  the  scarf  in  your  mouth  with  fingers  that  had  been  buried  up  inside  of  you.  Stuffed  in  you  during  the  climax  you  were  only  riding  down.  </p>
<p>Forehead  to  forehead,  nose  against  nose.  Steve  penetrated  you.  Speared  you  open  with  his  member.  Made  you  scream  out  beneath  all  that  fabric  in  your  mouth.  He  was  so  thick.  So  so  hard  pushing  up  into  you,  sliding  in  through  your  viscous  release  that  coated  him,  oozed  out  with  every  inch  he  took  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>A  fire  ignited  low  in  your  gut.  You  shook.  You  shook  beneath  him  and  with  a  burst  of  energy,  you  reached  up  to  wrap  your  arms  around  him,  grab  him.  Bound  at  the  wrists  you  missed.  But  Steve  paused,  lowered  his  head  to  allow  your  hands  to  go  up  over  and  come  to  rest  on  the  back  of  his  neck.  Allowing  you  to  hold  him  close.  Allowing  you  to  hold  on  tight.  Allowing  you  to  further  that  connection  between  the  two  of  you.</p>
<p>Resting  his  forehead  to  yours.  Smells  of  salty  sweat  filled  your  nose.  Steve’s  soap  and  the  coffee  he  had  after  dinner.  The  manly  scent  of  Steve  too.  Infusing  all  of  your  senses.  His  body  pressed  down  further  on  yours,  deeper  into  you.  </p>
<p>“…look  good,  so  beautiful.  Shit.  Doll  I’m  gonna  come.  Not  gonna  last…”</p>
<p>Encouraging  noises  came  from  you.  You  could  have  cared  less.  There  was  no  way  you  could  come  again.  Heaven  on  earth,  you  wanted  him  to  come,  to  feel  good  in  your  body.  How  badly  you  wanted  him  to  fuck  you  senseless,  to  put  out  that  fire  that  flickered  inside  of  your  core,  growing  and  growing  and  growing.</p>
<p>Sinking  your  fingers  into  the  damp  back  of  his  neck,  up  into  the  short  cut  of  his  hair.</p>
<p>Easily  you  tilted  up  your  pelvis  to  take  him  deeper.  Moaning  deep.  Closing  your  eyes.  Taking  him  fully  up  against  your  cervix  with  a  grunt.</p>
<p>You  felt  Steve  combust  on  top  of  you.  </p>
<p>Smothered  by  his  body,  all  you  could  do  was  watch  his  face  sink  into  the  pillow  beneath  your  head.  Listen  to  him  cry  out  into  it.  Feel  his  pelvis  kick  up  against  you,  fuck  up  into  you  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  get  in  deeper,  build  up  friction.  An  attempt  was  made  on  your  part  to  squeeze  your  core  muscles,  leading  to  soft  swearing  hisses  coming  from  Steve.  A  mop  of  sweaty  dark  blonde  hair  was  all  you  could  see  on  the  pillow.  Each  muscle  in  his  neck  was  taut,  in  his  body’s  quest  to  fill  your  deepest  part  full  of  his  release.</p>
<p>Seeking  more,  his  hips  began  to  move,  pulling  out  to  push  back  in,  fulfill  a  need  that  his  body  had  not  completed,  that  his  enhanced  brain  needed  again.  Slow  at  first.  Steadily  building  up  a  rhythm,  in  and  out  of  you,  with  the  lower  part  of  his  body.  Up  above  his  waist,  his  fingers  dug  into  the  scarf  in  your  mouth.  Yanked  on  it.  Pulled  and  tugged  till  something  tore,  ripped  and  split,  until  the  silk  fabric  gave  way  and  was  yanked  aside.  Smearing  your  drool  everywhere  and  his  mouth  was  on  yours.  </p>
<p>Never  once  giving  you  a  moment  to  wipe  yourself  clean  or  take  a  deep  breath.</p>
<p>Steve  was  kissing  you.  Steve’s  mouth  was  on  yours,  pushing  against  your  own,  breathing  against  you.  His  tongue  reached  down  to  rub  against  your  own,  entice  it,  lure  it  into  his  mouth  when  he  crashed  down  on  you,  sealed  your  lips  together  and  made  that  fire  burn  hotter  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>It  was  driving  you  out  of  your  mind.  This  man  was  driving  you  past  the  brink.  Bouncing  your  ass  down  against  the  sheets  in  a  painful  way,  on  each  thrust  into  you,  making  everything  even  better.  The  pain  heightened  everything.  Feeling  vaguely  like  a  sunburn.  Your  ass  was  tender  from  him  fucking  you  senseless  last  night  and  your  pussy  was  still  clenching  and  tingling  and  probably  wasn’t  going  to  stop  anytime  soon.  Not  after  he  sucked  you  off  till  you  came  over  the  past  few  hours,  again  and  again.</p>
<p>Desperate  and  frantic  against  his  mouth,  your  gasped  and  attempted  to  speak.  The  kisses  were  sloppy  and  left  your  mouths  as  wet  as  where  his  cock  pummeled  into  you.  He  bounced  into  you  so  deep  you  tingled  everywhere,  your  toes  even  curled  from  where  your  legs  were  wrapped  around  his  long  limbs.  “Fucking  come  Steve…come  all  over  me…in  me…cover  me  with  you…in  your  stuff…”</p>
<p>Those  words  set  his  hips  to  moving  faster,  harder,  slamming  you  into  the  mattress  mercilessly.  “Want  it?”</p>
<p>Eagerly  you  nodded.  </p>
<p>Never  slowing,  he  kissed  you  again.  Bit  your  bottom  lip.  “Gonna  come  in  you.  Come  on  you  next.”</p>
<p>Next?  A  next  time?  You  were  barely  surviving  this  time.</p>
<p>“Fuck  me  Steve.  Fuck  me  more.”  You  cried,  you  were  crying.  So  built  up  from  his  mouth  and  what  he  had  done  to  you  repeatedly.  Providing  you  no  penetration.  Feeling  him  power  in  and  out  of  you  was  bliss.  It  connected  a  circuit.  It  powered  you  body  and  soul.  All  you  wanted  was  for  him  to  make  this  hunger  and  desperation  that  he’d  built  up  in  you  all  night  end.  In  some  way,  he’d  started  a  blaze  that  only  he  could  put  out.  “Don’t  stop.  Don’t  stop.  Don’t  stop.”</p>
<p>As  if  he  could  ever  stop.  He  would  never  stop.  This  felt  too  good.  You  felt  so  good.  Wrapped  so  tightly  around  his  organ.  Leaving  him  slippery  when  he  left  your  body,  clenching  him  when  he  slammed  back  in.  Sac  slapping  hard  against  you  each  time  he  bottomed  out.</p>
<p>Painful  pricks  from  your  nails  sinking  into  his  neck  made  him  notice  your  eyes  roll  up  into  your  head,  your  mouth  open  in  mewling  cries.  Tightly  your  cunt  began  to  milk  his  cock  in  yet  another  climax.  Beneath  him  you  shook  like  a  leaf,  in  an  all-consuming  pleasure  that  he  pounded  into,  greedy  to  feel  your  tight  walls  grow  even  tighter  around  him.</p>
<p>This  climax  made  you  even  wetter.  Panicked  cries  escaped  with  every  thrust  he  made  into  you.  Hearing  you  so  stripped  down,  so  primal,  so  frantic  in  your  pleasure  getting  speared  open  on  his  cock  made  him  even  harder.</p>
<p>Close.  He  was  so  damn  close.  Practically  there.</p>
<p>His  balls  were  painfully  tight  and  he  was  coming  before  he  knew  it,  spilling  deep  into  you,  caught  up  entirely  in  the  clenching  pulsing  of  your  pussy.  Emptying  what  felt  like  every  last  part  of  him  into  you,  his  release  was  powerful,  explosive.  Spewing  out  against  your  cervix,  smearing  against  your  walls  as  he  rutted  himself  to  exhaustion  inside  of  you.  Grunting.  Huffing.  Fucking.  Pounding.  Searching  for  absolution  in  the  only  place  he  ever  found  it.</p>
<p>Eventually…collapsing  on  top  of  you,  spent…exhausted…gasping,  burying  his  face  in  your  neck.  Fingers  belonging  to  you  threaded  into  his  hair.  Steve’s  cock  remained  firmly  inside  of  you,  leaking  the  remains  of  himself  into  you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Damp  towel  wrapped  around  his  waist,  Steve  dug  through  the  bottom  of  his  sock  drawer.  Wet  hair  messy.  Skin  a  bit  damp  from  all  the  bathroom  steam.  In  no  hurry  to  fully  dry  off  yet.  He  searched  through  a  sea  of  balled  up  socks.  Rolled  with  precision,  exactly  how  he  preferred  and  down,  deep  down  at  the  bottom,  was  the  little  box  he  had  hidden  in  there  some  time  ago.</p>
<p>Sounds  of  you  brushing  your  teeth  drifted  out  of  the  bathroom.</p>
<p>In  a  matter  of  minutes,  you’d  come  out,  fall  onto  the  fresh  bed  sheets  that  he’d  just  changed  and  without  a  doubt,  you’d  conk  out  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  Without  a  single  doubt  in  Steve’s  mind.</p>
<p>Popping  open  the  box,  a  rough  bumpy  pearl  looked  up  at  him.  Set  in  a  gold  band  that  had  a  rough  finish.  It  had  caught  his  eye.  A  beautiful  and  classic  pearl  set  in  traditional  yellow  gold  with  a  diamond  on  either  side  of  that  pearl.  That  the  pearl  wasn’t  perfectly  round  had  caught  his  eye.  It’d  spoken  to  him.  All  of  its  imperfections  making  it  perfect.  He’d  asked  the  jeweler  to  put  a  diamond  on  either  side  of  it.  After  paying,  he’d  hid  it  in  his  drawer  to  pull  it  out  on  a  rare  occasion  to  look  at,  knowing  that  it  would  be  obvious  when  the  time  was  right.</p>
<p>Now  things  were  becoming  obvious.  When  it  was  obvious  that  Steve  couldn’t  go  another  day  without  seeing  <em>his</em>  ring  on  your  finger.</p>
<p>Now  was  the  time.  Because  he  would  not  wait  another  second  to  do  this.  It  would  cause  him  physical  pain  to  wait  any  longer.</p>
<p>Pulling  the  ring  out,  he  dropped  the  little  box  back  in  the  drawer  and  closed  it.</p>
<p>Sounds  of  teeth  brushing  turned  into  the  sink  running,  letting  Steve  know  of  your  movements  in  the  bathroom.  Causing  him  to  look  around  the  small  bedroom.  Over  at  the  bed  you  two  had  only  recently  stumbled  out  of  to  shower.  Orderly  neat  furniture,  minimal  decorations,  not  even  a  picture  anywhere  to  be  seen.  Steve  could  remember  that  even  his  parents  had  a  wedding  photo  on  the  wall.</p>
<p>How  did  he  want  to  do  this?  There  were  so  many  ways.  So  many  options.  Most  of  which  he  immediately  disregarded.  He  wasn’t  proposing.  Nothing  about  this,  or  what  the  two  of  you  shared  was  conventional.  All  of  the  imperfections  between  the  two  of  you  and  what  you  shared  made  it  perfect.  </p>
<p>Decided,  his  feet  set  into  motion  back  towards  the  bathroom  within  your  marital  bedroom.  “I  have  something  for  you,”  he  called  out  to  you,  sounding  like  himself,  nothing  too  out  of  the  usual.</p>
<p>You,  on  the  other  hand,  sounded  both  tired  and  satisfied,  while  also  slightly  amused.  Very  much  yourself.  “If  you  give  me  anything  else  tonight  Steve.  I’m  going  to  be  sitting  on  a  pillow  for  the  rest  of  the  month.”</p>
<p>An  eyeroll.  A  sigh.  He  stepped  into  the  bathroom  doorway  to  watch  you  in  the  mirror.  So  perfectly  imperfect  like  him.  A  jagged  edge  of  something  that  completed  his  uneven  edges  perfectly.</p>
<p>Even  tired,  your  smile  reached  your  eyes.  You  snickered  at  your  own  little  joke  that  he  wasn’t  about  to  admit  was  a  little  amusing.</p>
<p>His  serious  face  only  made  your  smile  grow.  Up  until  you  finally  turned  around,  attempting  to  be  serious  with  horrible  results.  Beaming  while  deeply  relaxed,  dressed  in  a  flowy  powder  blue  nightgown  that  reached  your  ankles.  Bruises  from  Zemo  were  changing  still,  blooming  from  the  dark  blue  to  yellowish  green  as  they  healed  around  your  neck,  on  your  face.  Now  obvious  with  all  your  makeup  from  the  day  washed  away.</p>
<p>Beneath  the  cotton  fabric  of  the  grandmotherly  nightgown  rested  your  piercings.  On  top  of  the  swells  of  your  breasts.  Little  pieces  of  metal  poking  beneath  the  fabric.  </p>
<p>Anticipating,  you  tugged  on  your  bottom  lip  with  your  teeth.</p>
<p>“Hold  out  your  hand.”</p>
<p>Out  popped  your  hand.</p>
<p>Another  sigh  came  from  Steve.  “Your  other  hand,  doll.”</p>
<p>Out  popped  your  other  hand,  joining  its  mate,  palms  up  to  almost  form  a  bowl  with  your  hands.  Your  eyes  drifted  up  to  watch  his  expression.  See  what  he  would  do  next.  Pools  of  blue  shone  down  on  you,  giving  nothing  away.</p>
<p>Reaching  out,  Steve  took  your  left  hand  and  flipped  it  over.  He’d  slipped  something  on  your  finger  before  you  even  knew  what  he’d  done  and  then,  he  leaned  down  to  brush  him  lips  on  the  back  of  your  hand.</p>
<p>It  was  a  ring.</p>
<p>A  ring  had  been  slipped  onto  <em>that</em>  finger.</p>
<p>Curiously,  you  peered  down  to  get  a  look  at  it  the  second  Steve  lifted  his  head  and  you  were  touched,  you  were  surprised.  Genuinely  speechless  at  the  sight  of  the  ring  that  had  been  slipped  on  your  scabbed  up  and  bruised  hands,  nearing  the  last  stages  of  their  healing.</p>
<p>You’d  never  been  a  big  fan  of  dainty  kinds  of  things,  but  this  ring  he’d  slipped  on  your  finger  wasn’t.  Sure,  it  had  a  pearl  and  was  gold  and  traditional  looking,  but  it  also  wasn’t.  It  had  an  almost  rough  look  to  it  that  you  found  yourself  really  digging.  </p>
<p>Yanking  your  hand  free  to  look  at  it  closer.  </p>
<p>Noticing  then  that  there  were  diamonds  too.  Two  good  sized  diamonds  on  each  side  of  that  pearl  that  most  surprisingly,  you  were  really  digging.  Truthfully,  it  was  nothing  you  would  have  ever  imagined  liking  but  seeing  it,  knowing  Steve  had  picked  it,  looking  it  over  closely,  you  loved  it  at  first  sight.  </p>
<p>“It’s  beautiful,”  you  breathed,  unable  to  look  away.  “It’s  so  beautiful.  It’s  perfect.”</p>
<p>In  every  way  it  was  perfect.</p>
<p>The  tears  that  filled  your  eyes  again  were  different  tears.  Touched  tears.  Happy  and  emotional  tears  that  Steve  leaned  down  to  kiss  off  your  cheeks.</p>
<p>And  he’d  been  right.  This  was  obviously,  finally,  the  perfect  time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>A  few  days  later…</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>May  needed  a  smoke.</p>
<p>There  was  no  getting  around  it.</p>
<p>She’d  quit  long  ago,  but  only  pulled  out  the  pack  of  Marlboro’s  in  her  purse  for  emergency  type  situations.  It  had  hung  around  in  the  bottom  of  her  purse  for  a  few  years  now.  Waiting  for  the  next  big  crisis.</p>
<p>She’d  smoked  a  couple  the  day  Hydra  took  over.  More  when  she  got  the  letter  wanting  you  to  marry  some   member  of  Hydra  in  the  mail  and  then  a  handful  the  morning  of  your  first  wedding  all  those  years  ago.  Having  just  returned  back  to  the  house  you  shared  with  Steve  and  Peter  and…Bucky…May  finally  gave  in.  She  snuck  out  onto  the  back  steps,  exiting  the  kitchen,  into  the  back  yard  and  lit  up.  </p>
<p>Inhaling  deeply  on  the  tobacco  product  and  looking  up  at  a  moonless  night,  May  enjoyed  the  solitude.</p>
<p>They’d  just  gotten  back  from  a  little  church.  A  renewal  of  vows  you’d  surprised  her  with  earlier  that  day  and  she’d  plastered  on  a  smile,  hugged  you  and  told  you  she’d  gladly  help  you  get  ready.</p>
<p>She’d  thrown  up  as  soon  as  she  could  get  away.</p>
<p>Then  she  had  to  watch  you  and  Steve  take  those  vows  again.  </p>
<p>It  was  even  more  horrible  then  the  first  time  she  had  to  watch  the  two  of  you  do  it.  At  least  the  first  time  neither  of  you  wanted  to  be  there,  or  do  it,  but  Hydra  was  very  persuasive  and  all  of  you  knew  there  was  no  alternative.  Every  other  option  was  horribly  worse.  You  had  to  marry  into  Hydra  or  Peter  had  to  go  to  their  special  academy.</p>
<p>May’s  eyes  burnt  and  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  Marlboro.</p>
<p>Now  it  was  clear  that  you  and  Steve  had  grown  fond  of  one  another.  It  was  clear  that  you  were  getting  more  involved  in  Hydra.  All  four  of  you  were  heavily  involved  in  resisting  Hydra.  Soon,  eventually,  Peter  would  become  a  member  of  Hydra  too.</p>
<p>It  was  all  too  much.</p>
<p>She  had  failed  the  both  of  you.  </p>
<p>When  it  was  clear  what  had  happened  that  morning  Hydra  took  over,  she  should  have  taken  the  two  of  you  and  left.  She  should  have  gone  somewhere,  anywhere,  started  over  with  new  names  in  some  backwoods rural  part  of  America.</p>
<p>With  a  shaking  hand,  she  flicked  her  cigarette  and  blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke.</p>
<p>Hearing  those  exact  same  vows  that  she  and  Ben  had  spoken  to  one  another,  so  filled  with  love  and  hope  and  devotion  uttered  by  you  and  Steve.  It  made  her  stomach  twist.  How  desperately  did  she  not  want  this  world  for  you  and  Peter.  </p>
<p>Hydra  had  ruined  everything.</p>
<p>Behind  her,  the  screen  door  to  the  kitchen  opened  and  May  turned,  put  out  her  cigarette  on  the  step  beneath  her  shoe  and  waved  her  hand  to  disperse  the  cloud,  knowing  how  you  and  Peter  felt  about  her  smoking.  </p>
<p>Fortunately  for  May,  it  was  neither  you  or  Peter  or  even  Steve.  The  latter  not  too  shocking.  Steve  liked  to  give  her  a  wide  berth.</p>
<p>It  was  Bucky.</p>
<p>The  roommate.</p>
<p>The  Winter  Soldier,  former  that  was  and  current  Captain  Hydra.</p>
<p>And  he  had  a  beer  in  each  hand.</p>
<p>Wordlessly  he  held  it  out  in  offering  as  the  screen  door  shut  behind  him.</p>
<p>Not  hesitating  for  a  second.  May  grabbed  the  cold  glass  bottle  and  made  herself  comfy  on  the  stairs  once  more.  Not  even  bothering  to  look  over  when  Steve’s  childhood  friend  took  a  seat  on  the  step  beside  her  and  his  metal  arm  brushed  her  own.</p>
<p>In  silence  for  a  while  the  pair  sipped  their  individual  beers.  It  wasn’t  terrible.  Even  if  she  wasn’t  a  big  beer  drinker.  It  was  fine.</p>
<p>Eventually,  under  the  night  sky  in  the  mostly  silent  neighborhood  due  to  the  hour,  minus  the  occasional  car  or  barking  dog  or  distant  television,  May  asked  a  question.  “Shouldn’t  you  be  slinking  off  to  go  sleepover  at  your  girlfriends?”</p>
<p>Bucky  didn’t  seem  to  be  much  of  a  talker  and  she’d  been  more  than  fine  with  that.  Until  she  noticed  the  way  that  Peter  interacted  with  this  older  man.  This  one-armed  assassin.  Like  he  held  all  the  answers.</p>
<p>Ben  was  probably  rolling  around  in  his  grave.</p>
<p>In  no  hurry  apparently.  He  eventually  responded  with,  “She’s  at  bingo  with  Becca  till  ten  thirty.”  He  then  sipped  his  beer.</p>
<p>Considering  that  statement.  She  looked  over  the  shadows  in  the  back  yard.  “Bingo?  With  your  sister?  She’s  something  of  an  old  soul  huh?”</p>
<p>Nothing  came  in  response  to  that  statement.</p>
<p>Meeting  his  sister  Rebecca  had  been  weird.  It  was  all  so  strange.  Bucky  was  a  few  years  older  than  his  elderly  sister,  while  looking  mid-thirties  maybe?  And  then  his  girlfriend  was  somewhere  between  him  and  you  in  age,  yet  had  a  weird  sisterly  bond  with  the  white-haired  Rebecca.  So  odd.</p>
<p>“What’s  your  problem  with  Steve?”</p>
<p>Surprised,  May  glanced  over.</p>
<p>Bucky  shrugged,  his  eyes  looked  May  over  before  looking  out  at  the  yard  and  giving  her  his  profile.  His  longer  hair  pulled  back.  “I  don’t  care  one  way  or  the  other.  M’just  curious.”</p>
<p>For  a  moment,  she  considered  what  he  said,  weighed  her  options  and  took  another  sip  of  the  cold  beer.</p>
<p>Just  when  Bucky  figured  she’d  dodge  the  question  like  he  had  hers,  May  told  him.  “He  never  asked  for  my  permission  to  marry  my  niece.”</p>
<p>Floored,  he  stared  at  your  aunt.</p>
<p>That  was  not  anywhere  near  what  he  thought  could  be  the  reason.  His  dark  eyebrows  rose  high  on  his  forehead  and  May  laughed  bitterly  to  herself.  Waving  him  off  and  resting  her  arms  on  her  knees.  Making  herself  comfortable.  “I  know,  I  know,  it’s  an  outdated  concept,  archaic  and  all  that  crap.  But  still.  You  guys  are  from  a  different  time  when  that  was  the  norm.  I  at  least  expected  that  from  him  and  then  I  thought,  maybe  Hydra  fried  his  brain  and  he  wasn’t  with  it  enough  to  ask.  Right?”</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>Sure,  why  not?</p>
<p>He  sorta  nodded  and  shrugged  at  the  same  time,  in  an  answer  of  some  kind.</p>
<p>“Nope,”  she  snapped,  tapping  the  bottle  against  her  shin.  Popping  that  P  sound  hard.  “He  was  well  within  his  right  mind.  I  never  met  him  till  that  morning  at  the  courthouse  for  the  ceremony.”</p>
<p>Of  which  he  could  completely  understand.  Steve  now  was  different  from  the  Steve  then,  or  so  he’d  been  told.  Buck  knew  what  Hydra  could  do  to  people.  How  they  could  warp  and  destroy  them.  While  his  memories  of  Steve  in  the  past  were  fuzzy,  along  with  most  all  his  early  memories  of  growing  up  in  Brooklyn  and  the  war,  he  knew  what  felt  right  and  what  he  did  remember  of  Steve.  It  was  mostly  all  good  and  some  of  that  goodness  still  remained.</p>
<p>“They  love  each  other,”  was  all  he  could  say  in  response.</p>
<p>Sighing  out  in  annoyance,  May  nodded,  “I  know.” </p>
<p>If  she  rolled  her  eyes,  he  wouldn’t  have  been  surprised.  He  found  himself  wondering  if  you  and  Peter  had  picked  up  on  some  of  her  mannerisms.  As  they  were  all  pretty  familiar.</p>
<p>Peering  down  at  the  half  full  bottle  that  he  held  in  his  flesh  hand,  James  rubbed  the  back  of  his  neck  with  his  metal  one,  before  swirling  said  bottle.  Internally  counting  down  the  minutes  till  bingo  came  to  an  end.  “I  don’t  get  it  either.  They  fight  like  cats  and  dogs.  She  drives  him  crazy.  He’s  a  handful.”  He  then  shrugged  as  if  that  explained  everything  and  when  he  saw  the  horrified  look  on  your  aunt’s  face,  he  added,  “They  love  each  other.  They  would  do  anything  for  each  other.  It’s  not  perfect.  But  nothing  ever  is.”</p>
<p>Not  even  his  own  relationship  with  his  girlfriend.  His  own  relationship  was  complex  and  required  much  sensitivity  and  compassion  from  him,  things  that  he  didn’t  think  he  would  have  been  capable  of  all  things  considered.  Love  did  things  to  people.  Love  made  people  do  things  they  never  thought  they’d  be  capable  of.</p>
<p>May  looked  neither  amused  nor  impressed.</p>
<p>Scowling.  She  lifted  her  free  hand  up  to  pull  her  hair  loose  from  the  updo  it’d  been  in  for  the  secret  ceremony.  “How  are  <em>you</em>  the  voice  of  reason  under  this  roof?”</p>
<p>Of  all  the  things  he’d  been  called,  that  was  a  new  one.</p>
<p>Thoughtfully,  James  sipped  his  beer  and  checked  his  watch.  That  was  hardly  an  impossible  question  to  answer.  However,  he  wanted  to  stroll  towards  his  sisters  house.  He  liked  to  keep  an  eye  on  things  around  the  neighborhood.  He  liked  to  check  around  Becca’s  house  and  the  girlfriends  house,  make  sure  nothing  was  out  or  place  and  no  one  was  hanging  around.</p>
<p>Knowing  how  ruthless  and  insistent  Hydra  could  be  first  hand,  he  liked  to  keep  an  eye  on  things.  In  order  to  make  sure  that  they  were  still  his  and  that  they  stayed  that  way.</p>
<p>“Cause  Hydra  already  took  everything  from  me.  I  have  nothing  to  lose  anymore.  Everyone  else  under  this  roof  apparently  does.”  A  sigh  then  came  from  his  mouth  and  he  pushed  himself  up  off  the  stairs.  Finished  up  the  beer  that  would  do  nothing  for  him  and  tossed  it  in  the  recycle  bin  by  the  porch.  Aware  that  May  was  watching  his  every  move.  </p>
<p>A  concerned  expression  had  come  over  her  face.  A  part  of  him  told  James  to  pat  her  shoulder,  assure  her  or  something.  But  he  didn’t  much  like  touching  people.  Most  people  anyway.  “All  that  pain  and  suffering  you  feel  is  good.  It’s  when  you  don’t  feel  anything  at  all  that  you  know  Hydra  finally  won.”</p>
<p>Having  spread  the  good  word,  Bucky  gave  May  a  nod  of  parting.  Finally  wandering  out  of  the  yard  and  into  the  night  in  his  interminable  wait  for  bingo  to  end.  </p>
<p>Leaving  May  with  even  more  thoughts  for  her  next  cigarette.</p>
  </div></div>
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